Lieu Sacré (Sacred Place)
by NYCBound
Summary: Set between Orphan Black Season 2 and the start of filming Season 3. Ebro takes Tmas on and out of town weekend adventure. RLP that I do not know at all - ABSOLUTE FICTION. I know, I know, RLP in fic can be awkward. But I hope you'll find that respectful writing that focuses on story might prove otherwise. If not, that's cool too. Thanks for giving this story a shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 ** _"She bites her bottom lip in that merciless way that makes Cosima's knees buckle and you seriously consider the evaporating line between fiction and reality."_**

* * *

Are Ebro and Tmas that funny when they're alone? Is the chemistry that jumps off the screen as present on the set? MasBro are a creative match made in heaven. RLP imaginary adventure trip set between the airing of Season 2 and the filming of Season 3. What if they let their guards down and just….

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

If this isn't your thing, that's cool. Just please try not to judge it before you give it a shot. I actually started this fic as a cophine story but it felt forced and wasn't working. So this happened and I'm surprised by how far it ran. I respect these actors profoundly and thus tried to compose the most honest and respectful story possible. It was a sweet ride.

All typos and errors mine, all mine, an impatient self editor here.

* * *

"Êtes-vous prêt à aller, ma chérie?" she whispers, ever so discretely, into your ear as she sneaks up behind you just near the loo. It takes a few breathy moments for you to do the math in your head. You have to re-organize the verbs and the nouns into familiar structures and translate her sweet talk from French to English, from Delphne, to Évelyne. From then to now. The air grips the back of your throat a second longer than it should before you can spin around blurting out "Of course, of course. Let's do this!" with an audible laugh.

You find yourself rolling up on the balls of your feet to meet her sunglasses with your eyes, just as she places her cool hands on each of your bare shoulders returning your feet firmly to the floor. Something about her focus is disarming and unexpected. But before you can speak, she interrupts the thought. "Let me just say goodbye to the others and grab my bag? Okay?" Her voice is calm and bright, yet you can actually hear the wind escape your own lungs. You swear that you can actually see the twinkle in her eyes behind her shades. Your unsteady legs suddenly wobble and words cluster behind your cheeky grin like a damn.

This moment suspends. She cocks her head sharply to the left and a smile unfurls, dimples fully consuming her cheeks. You feel your own flush at the recognition that there's lipstick, for lack of a better word, crusted, into the corners of her lips and you have to force yourself to resist the temptation to reach out and touch them with your fingertips, smooth the crimson-pink back over the bowing grin before you, but you don't. Instead you dig your hands deep into your pockets and scamper behind her like a field mouse begging to get caught.

"Tat-e-yannha!" she whines "Êtes-vous essayer de me tuer?"

"Me? Want you dead?" you call out over your shoulder, as the space between you increases. "Never."

Her footfalls race to meet you.

"We were supposed to leave an hour ago, we're going to miss the last train!" she scolds as she catches you in her long arms like a vice, pinning your limbs to your sides. Your noses bounce apart. The laughter is organic. Effortless. Genuine. She always makes you laugh. Such a clown, such a drama queen ' _cette fille juste pourrait vous tuer'_ you think to yourself cockily. But seriously Tat? Even your imaginary command of French is weak at best.

"Train? What train? You didn't tell me about a train," you calmly implore and she lets go, lifting her sunglasses to the crown of curls loosely arranged on her head.

"Merde" she mutters half under her breath, the tips of her ears gone red.

"Évelyne, where are we going?" Petulant is not your favorite mode. But it works.

She bites her bottom lip in that merciless way that makes Cosima's knees buckle and you seriously consider the evaporating line between fiction and reality.

"I only have a backpack and one set of over-night clothes," you continue, trying desperately to ground you both in the present but still very much enjoying how absolutely uncomfortable she is getting busted. "I thought we were going to a spa or a yoga thing or something. Where are we going that requires a train? Evie? Really?"

"Can you just not ask more questions? Trust me, mon petit chiot?" Her eyes fall from your mouth to the floor and back again.

Puppy. Really? She dropped the puppy card?

"Okay, okay. I'm game. I told you I'd be game for anything, but I'm terrible at the not knowing, you know this. We've met." She laughs at how adorably uptight you are and you see your own hands swinging in front of you in hyper gesticulations of "it's okay, it's okay, no one's mad." Eventually your open palms come to rest on her cheeks. You pull her forehead to your own, gently tug her down from the ridiculous elevation of her shoes and gently kiss the place where curls meet the softness of her skin. "Thank you for Tat-napping me. Where ever we're going. I'm sure we'll have a great time." Trust reinstated, you can feel her smile even though you cannot see it. Maybe because Évelyne's smile is so warm it radiates all the way back up to your lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 ** _"Your heart is racing. Still not knowing what the end of this not so obvious road trip will be. Both this weekend trip, and this project trip. Perhaps one is a metaphor for the other?"_**

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors my own.

Thank you for reading. I look forward to your thoughts!

* * *

The two of you have always been masterful at blending in with a crowd. Rarely do people recognize either of you in public, unless you're hanging around outside an event for work, or in Los Angeles or New York. In Toronto and Montreal people know better than to pull out a camera or start awkward conversations the way Americans can. No filter those people. It's seriously alarming.

Or maybe Canadians are perfectly polite and know enough not to bother the nice people you occasionally see on TV or in a film. Or maybe you're both just really good at not drawing attention to yourselves and people are just perfectly oblivious to you and your friend, who happens to be your co-star, riding a train late into the night, heading east from Toronto as the sun considers it's inevitable morning return. Who could possibly think anything of the pile of sweaters and pashminas covering two slumbering heads looking like a couple of college kids in jeans and ponytails, crashed into each other for lack of a travel pillow?

And in that thought, for a hot second you could wring her precious, occasionally blond, always swanlike, neck. For you, travel requires meticulous preparation. Had you know that you'd be spending an over-night on a train you would be dressed differently. You would have packed differently. You would be wearing different shoes and would have remembered the face wipes that have the salicylic acid in them. You would not be wearing an underwire bra. YOU would have booked a flight, actually. But when Évelyne promises a girl's-trip, sleep-over, hiatus-celebration, adventure-weekend you don't really get much say. And well maybe it wouldn't have been an overnight train if you hadn't stalled your departure. Whoopse.

Before you released your collapsible sleep car chairs to the horizontal-ish resting-ish position and the train lulled its surrounding passengers to slumber, you and she chatted for hours admiring the whizzing landscape outside. About the season and the wrap party and planning for what was coming. You played with accents and the let the people around you think you were both Ukrainian, then spontaneously English, then obnoxiously American. Then yourselves. She sometimes whispered naughty things to you French that you'd struggle to translate quickly and do your best to not butcher a clever reply. But the hours passed quickly nonetheless. You talked about Cosima's recovery and the new love interest and how both of you were so excited to work with Ksenia. You talked about the plans to shift Delphine into something scary, something more radical, and something so far from anything Évelyne had worked on before. You talked about the new seestras and the old seestras and leather pants and leather jackets and how Évelyne arranged this weekend with Tom's blessing. How grateful you were that they got along and how thrilled John and Graeme were that everyone genuinely was starting to really feel like a family.

Eventually her butterfly hands stilled in her lap and her effortless laughter calmed to even deep breaths. You wrapped her in the sweater she'd left with her bag under your seats, carefully tucked her phone in a safe place and quietly watched her doze off. Even while sleeping her presence is light, jovial, charming. You count the freckles on her brow, her hands, her chin. You know what this feeling is and you love it as much as you loathe it. The urgency for intimacy you really cannot pursue. But the bond is evident. That much is true. But pursuit beyond this lovely place of mutual adoration is a choice you simply cannot make. But here in this moment, this connection is lovely and innocent and sincere. And you have Tom's blessing and you have John and Graeme's blessing and they all know that you adore each other and no one's stepping out on anyone. You're just spending some time with a friend you're not going to see for a while is all.

So you try to sleep but your mind is racing. Your heart is racing. Still not knowing what the end of this not so obvious road trip will be. Both this weekend trip, and this project trip. Perhaps one is a metaphor for the other? It will be strange moving into new stories without Évelyne present so often. Kissing Dylan for the camera is one thing. But Évelyne is something else. You're not so sure you WANT to be that awkwardly vulnerable with any other woman but her. But Évelyne, your work wife, will still be Évelyne your friend, so even if Delphine and Cosima aren't going to spend all that much time together it is not like you're loosing her completely. That's what this weekend was for. Évelyne said she wanted to spend some quality time with her "buddy", off the grid, before life and work got crazy again.

With that you can't help but snuggle into the cashmere wrapped around her throat. The air on the train is cold. You're freezing and body heat is just that. Body heat. You feel her breathing adjust to the weight of your torso imposing upon her. She opens her arms and warps the one that had been between you gently around your stomach and you slowly let yourself curl into her lap. She adjusts the sweater that was over her front on you like a blanket and scoops her hand beneath, coming to stillness just over your navel. Her thumb marks absentminded circles gently above the waist of your low riding, miserably-uncomfortable-while-attempting-to-sleep, jeans. Then as if she has read your mind, she casually unbuttons the front of your pants and lets her fingers come to rest. You look up hoping to catch her eyes but they're closed, her face relaxed, as if she never really woke in all your shuffling about in the seat beside her, upon her. Your breath catches in your throat again. That happened earlier today when she snuck up on you and whispered French in your ear. Your response is kinesthetic, nonjudgmental and earnest. You let your hand slide on top of hers. You entwine your fingers with the long hand spanning your midriff. You inhale the scent of her hair, her perfume, the unfortunate funk of the train as you finally drift off to some suddenly welcome comforting rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 ** _"I forgot how long this trip was from Toronto. I'm sorry,_** ** _ma chère. But._** ** _I can't wait to bring you to my favorite place. My…" She's searching for the word in English, her hands swirling in front of her face like fireflies. 'My sacred place -'"_**

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

You all know where this is going, but let's save that for a later chapter, shall we? I think the suspense is totally adorable, and totally worth it. Hope you do too!

All errors absolutely my own.

I look forward to your thoughts! Please review.

* * *

The next morning is met with coffee, surly brows and contorted backs. You grab her elbow walking from train to taxi stand and she shortens her stride to walk with instead of in front of you. "I'm not used to slowing down, sorry," She giggles into her second cup of coffee. You hope catching her off guard might result in her revealing your destination. It doesn't. Even when you plead. Steal her bag. Steal her coffee. Chase her around the taxi stand like a twelve year old boy. She is stalwart – and frankly enjoying your impatience. And you're enjoying how much she enjoys it – actually.

The cab ride is far. You feel guilty. This is getting expensive. I mean you're both working, obviously, and doing fine, but she's footing the bill for everything and it makes you wince at the meter as it rises. Still you have no idea where you're going because she mumbled directions to the driver in French faster than you could decipher. The witty banter exchanged between them during the drive itself is even more frustrating. Every time she laughs he looks up in the rear view mirror, like he's trying to crack the puzzle in his back seat. Trying to figure out if he recognizes either of your faces, your voices, figure out what you were to each other. You get farther and farther from Montreal and his eyes meet yours in the reflective surface above his face and you immediately look at her. She's now gazing out the window like a child waiting to open a present. She's so excited, that she's practically vibrating. You cannot help but smile. She reaches back without breaking her gaze from the horizon, her fingers grasp yours. The driver looks away.

The sun is high above you when you see a sign for a port, dock numbers and ferry. A ferry. Okay. Now this is making sense.

"The Magdelan Islands?" Your voice creeps out, small, aerated. Not at all what you expected to hear when you spoke.

"Oui" she confesses, a twinkle in her eyes, smile broad, her hand squeezing yours tightly in the seemingly enormous territory between you on the seat.

You let go of her hand impulsively and she looks back for a moment as if she's been caught doing something she shouldn't and rather than try to speak to the flicker of panic in her brow, you slide over to the middle of the seat, where your hands were, and lean over, carefully placing your hand on her thigh as you lean towards her window, both of your faces looking out to the water.

"If you squint you can see the very edge of an island. Right there. See it?"

"Not really. But I believe you." Her right hand combs through the back of your hair and you slide back to your own side and fuss with packing up the scattered contents of your bag.

"The ferry isn't too long. We'll be there in time for dinner," she offers as she smiles one of those Delphine smiles that is loaded and layered. Complex and curious. Évelyne's smiles are sloppy and explosive, full of teeth and tongue and joy. Delphine's are more contained, controlled, almost inverted. To see her lips zipper into tension, off set, is almost upsetting.

"You okay?" Before you even finish the question your hand is raised and touching her cheek. Your thumb brushing over her tight lips as they break into a warm and genuine grin.

"Of course! I'm just so happy. And tired. I forgot how long this trip was from Toronto. I'm sorry, ma chère. But. I can't wait to bring you to my favorite place. My…"She's searching for the word in English, her hands swirling in front of her face like fireflies. "My sacred place -"

Évelyne stops speaking abruptly as the car stops near the ticketing area. The driver's eyes meet yours again in the mirror and you wonder how much English he understands and if he's still as confused about the puzzle in his back seat as you are. He registers the panic on your face and smiles the kindest of smiles. You swear you almost heard him chuckle. You swallow hard. She quickly shoves the fare in his hand.

"Allons-y, let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 ** _"I've wanted to do this for a long time. It's very special. To me. I mean. You are. Too and I can't wait to get there."_**

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors, solely my own.

I look forward to your thoughts! Reviews much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

* * *

The deck of the ferry is windy, but beautiful. Tourists line the railings with their cameras and smart phones. Who knew the Ferry could easily double as a whale watch this time of year. Children scamper in and out of legs and corridors. They sprawl all over any embankment of seats. You have a nice parking spot on the rail near the back of the boat. Watching the water rise and fall into white foam and green slices of distance pulling you farther and farther from the shoreline. You just need to nap. But napping is hard when it's awkwardly cold because you're on the water and you clearly didn't pack appropriately because someone didn't tell you in advance that you would need many many layers of clothing to cover your tiny freezing human right here out in the misty sun.

It's like she can tell you're ranting in your head.

"I'm sorry it's so cold, but I couldn't tell you. It would spoil the surprise. But I did bring you an extra sweater?" She pulls a chunky cable knit cardigan out of her bag and drapes it around your shaky shoulders. But she also stands directly behind you and wraps her arms around you from behind. You can feel the whole front of her body press into yours. You look down and see her boots tuck in beside your sneakers. Her hands wrap around your forearms. Her head tucks beside yours. Her lips gently, briefly, perch on your right cheek.

"That's better" you chatter out. "Thank you."

"Thank YOU," she replies, squeezing you tightly. "I've wanted to do this for a long time. It's very special. To me. I mean. You are. Too and I can't wait to get there."

"Come on!" You turn to face her, but her arms do not break the circle around your torso, so your noses are very close together. You can feel her breath on your chin. "The journey's half the fun? Right?" you spit out as awkward as you are shivering. Her hands pop open and immediately land apologetically on her mouth as if to rewind the previous moment. You both laugh.

You consider that you could absolutely be reading into this. You could be reading into everything. You do that. Évelyne is French. And affectionate. And freezing. But the air in your throat catches again and your ears flush and you could be reading into things but then again, you could not. Because her ears are flushed too. Or maybe she's just cold.

"Oh my god, Évelyne. You're freezing too. Why don't we just go underneath. At least it's warmer down there, right?"

"Tat, I'm fine." She takes your hands in hers and turns you back around to face the water. "Underneath is where the old people hang out. We're too young to be down there and the water is so beautiful. The crew will just be hollering around in French down there. I just want to watch the sky and chill out with you." With that she rubs your shoulders with her open palms and resumes her position behind you, planting her chin on your shoulder, again gently kissing your cheek. "Is this okay?" she asks, ever so politely.

"Of course" you reply. "You just missed the other side. I mean your kisses are always two parts and twice now you only got the one side."

"Which side?" she near whispers.

"The right side. My left cheek is feeling left out."

With that Évelyne licks her bottom lip as she turns your face with her index finger and wraps her other hand around the back of your head, nearly one finger at a time, before she takes an insufferable amount of breath to lean into your airspace and plant her lips firmly to your left check. She holds the kiss in place for what feels like a long long, foam crashes into slivers of green water in rapid succession, time.

"One more" you giggle. "Make it even."

"Encore un" she mumbles, breaking her lips from your skin. Her eyes darting from your mouth to the speeding water to your eyes to your mouth to the water to you.

"Encore un" you repeat. An invitation? A suggestion? A hesitation?

Your eyes lock. The moment suspends. You look down. She looks down. You hear her lips move. You look up. She looks up. You swallow. Shiver.

Dive your arms around her back and pull her as close to you as possible. Your face buried in her shoulder. Your arms strong against her back. You hear her exhale and can feel her cheeks tense into a smile.

Swiftly she pushes back, kisses your forehead chastely and excuses herself. "I'll be back in a second, just have to use the loo. Do you want a tea? Or something warm? I'm going to go under, there's a little café in there. For the old ones."

"Yea, okay. That would be great."

She's stepping backwards, towards the entrance to the interior of the ferry.

"Do you want me to come?" you say, suddenly feeling like you did something totally wrong.

"Non. Non. I'll be right back. I promise."

You discover your hand on your cheek. Despite the wind and the water and the chill you feel in the core of your bones, you would swear that the tiny patch of skin where her lips just were, is still warm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 ** _"'Évelyne,' you croak, and almost cough, and wonder if Cosima is absolutely taking over your body for a second, bringing your hand to your mouth instinctively."_**

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

I look forward to your thoughts! Please review and share. 3

* * *

Five and half hours on a ferry after an hour in a car after an evening on a train would make anyone loose their sea legs. But after a half day's worth of travel, a few hours wondering around town, a light dinner, a few glasses of wine, and a lengthy wonder back to the flat, it hadn't occurred to you once to look at your phone, check for messages, instagram etc. Holy crap. Unpacking your few things into the small apartment, you realize that your phone hasn't been charged in hours and it hasn't drained either. Wow. She is distracting indeed.

Évelyne half talks to you half talks to herself, half in English, half French, with the occasional giggle or smirk, as she butterflys around the small flat. She rents it directly from the owner, who hardly ever uses it, and loves that someone cares for the space as if it was her own.

"Any time I do not have to be somewhere for work, or for family, I am here. Almost all year. The winter, well. The winter, is very rare. But very special. It's just a pain to travel, you know?"

"Of course." You assess the ground plan subtly. One bedroom. Sleeper sofa in the small living room. Kitchen. Bathroom. Loft. You can hear the water at the shoreline from inside.

"Can I hang a few things in the closet in your room, even though I'm going to sleep out here?" you inquire – both to establish where you're sleeping, but also to make sure all of your clothes aren't a crinkled mess.

"Don't be silly, you're sleeping in here" she exclaims, welcoming you into the soft white room, covered in white linen, white gauze, soft white light, her bright smile. You brush bellies in the tiny door frame as you cross in and she crosses out.

"I'll sleep out here. You're my guest."

"Okay" you reply looking back out to her lounging on the petite sofa, which clearly isn't long enough for her to lay on. "But you're miserable when you're cranky and if sleeping in a pretzel is going to make you cranky tomorrow I'll willingly trade" you continue. "That's a Tat-sized couch."

She laughs and rolls her eyes at your back-handed compliment. But she also knows that you're correct.

"Or share." The words fall out of your mouth like drips off of an ice cream cone and both of you cover your faces in unison.

"I mean, I'm snack sized and it's a bigger bed and hell, I slept ON you on the train, I think I can manage next to you in here so we can both get some real sleep."

Évelyne says nothing in reply. But her finger nail traces her bottom lip to and fro as if she's deliberately trying to stop herself from biting it.

"Mon ami?" you continue, eyebrows up.

"I love quand vous parlez français. Very cute" she says as she stands and comes back to the door frame to meet you. She takes the dress in your hands by the hanger and puts it into the closet, casually wraps her arm around your waist and playfully collapses both of you onto the bed. The bed is kind of old. You're fairly sure you've both stopped breathing. It is so beautifully quiet. You hear the coils, coil beneath you. She brushes the hair from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear. The inside of her smile is red from the wine. Yours probably is too.

"Évelyne," you croak, and almost cough, and wonder if Cosima is absolutely taking over your body for a second, bringing your hand to your mouth instinctively.

"Shhhhhh" she replies pressing her finger to your lips. "I just want to lie here in the quiet for a second."

It's not cold in the flat, but you feel the hair on the back of your neck pull up sharply as your stomach falls.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6_**

 ** _"Her eyes are wet and you haven't felt so giddy in a very long time."_**

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos mine.

Please review, I really do look forward to your thoughts!

* * *

"Évelyne," you have to force the words out as quickly as possible so she cannot stop you from saying what you've needed to say for hours. For all of the hours since you left Toronto. The hours on the train. The hour in the cab. The hours on the ferry. The hours wondering around town. The hours not thinking about Tom. Not thinking about work. The twenty four hours leading up to this moment lying beside her in a secluded cabin near a beach on an island where no one knows either of you, nor would they care if what next came out of your mouth was, "E, may I…" You have to stop to breathe, but she miraculously doesn't interrupt, "kiss you?"

You feel her hand tense on your hip. It's not so much of a grab as a flinch. Your eyes dart to her mouth, to her eyes, and she closes them, almost like she'd inhaled some kind of wish. But she doesn't answer the question with anything more than the visible twitching of her lips, the worrying bite of her teeth on them. You freeze. Consider diving into her shoulder full of ringlets - again. You consider many things, actually. Is this wrong? Is it wrong if everyone expects it? Is it wrong if we were practically sent on this trip by the very people who might oppose this very moment? You consider the many takes of Cosima and Delphine kissing on set. Kiss in this light. In that light. From this angle. No. That angle. Sweater, on. Sweater off. Hair up. Hair loose. Dozens of kisses with dozens of people watching. None of that felt like this.

You consider the texture of her lips with your finger. You reach out and touch them. Trace the line of her upper lip, where it dips into a perfect letter 'M'. You trace the bow of her bottom lip and connect the birthmark on her chin with your feather light touch. You can't believe that after years of working together, quite intimately, it's like you're seeing her for the first time. Her crows feet. You love them. The baby hairs. Her freckles. You love that she's so incredibly beautiful and so incredibly real. Don't ever think about plastic surgery, you command her in the privacy of your own mind. Ever. You're stunning. And perfect. Your foreheads touch. Your heart is beating out of your chest like a teenager's and you can't unfreeze from this suspension of almost. Your nose slides past her nose. You can feel her exhale quicken so very close to your mouth.

But you have to wait for both of you to actually breath again. To feel her hand relax onto your hip and slide behind you to the small of your back. You wait for the space between you to evaporate to close your eyes, lean in, and smile right into her smile that comes crashing into yours in the least graceful kiss of all time.

Laughter erupts from the embarrassment, or is it the pain? You're not really sure, but there were teeth and it is funny as hell and she's swearing in French and you're laughing so hard you're actually crying and before long you're on your back with your arms around her neck and your face is crowned by the ringlets of her hair. Évelyne, eyes wide open, meets yours and says "Je ne pensais jamais que vous poseriez" before melting her mouth, her weight and seemingly her whole self into you.

You pull your head back into the mattress a little bit, open your eyes to see her face fearful and alert, ready to bolt. You press your hands to the small of her back, still her anxiety, kiss her nose before you ask, "wait, what did you just say? I mean the French is sexy as hell, but I still don't understand most of it." She leans in to kiss you again. And again. And again. "Yes?" she says as she bites your bottom lip and worries it in her teeth, "Oui." Her eyes are wet and you haven't felt so giddy in a very long time. Then she pushes up on her forearms and smiles to finish the thought, "I said, I never thought you'd ask."

"Ahhh!" You exclaim with a laugh, pushing her shoulder hard enough to roll her over to her back so that you could pounce in reply. This time you nose dive into her shoulder and feel your face covered with curls as you kiss the underside of her ear, dangle her earring on your tongue and make note of her hands seemingly taking measurements of every square inch of your body.

There are kisses that make you laugh. Kisses that make your knees buckle. Kisses that make it hard to hear. Kisses that seem to suspend time and place and the laws of physics. Kisses that rattle you to the very foundation of your person. Kisses that are full of play. Kisses that are lustful. Kisses that are loaded with subtext. Kisses that are transparent and sweet. Apologetic. Full of longing. This kiss was all of those kisses at the same time. Not too eager, nor forceful, not sloppy or cheap. Full bodied and carefully considered.

This was the kiss that almost happened on set, the first time Cosima made a move on Delphine. That almost happened in your trailer when you asked Évelyne if she'd ever been with a woman before and she turned sheet white, changed the subject and mumbled to herself in French all the way back to the make up station. This was the kiss that could have happened on the train, in the cab, on the ferry, near the beach, but could only happen right here, right now suspended cloud-like on a small beautiful island off the most eastern coastline.

This is the kiss that peels clothes off in layers, that stills sea breezes, and drops the sun from the sky. This is the kiss that lasts for hours, punch drunk on no sleep and good wine and the unimaginable reality that your skin is pressed to hers, beads of sweat mingling between you, that her hands hold yours over your head as she leaves trails of imaginary vines down the sides of your neck to your navel, from your hip to your knees, that the sheer geometry of her legs and gentility of her long hands leave you suspended in air unable to breathe. This is the kiss that shatters everything you think you know.

"Tatiana?" her voice emerges from the gentle chorus of sighs and whimpers in the dark, the first articulate speech since nightfall hours prior.

"Mmm hmm" you reply, pawing at her bare spine and shoulders, trying to pry her back to your eye level, back to your mouth.

She kisses you with the sweet and sticky echo of your own body on her lips and tongue. Your lower body trembles, again.

"I was afraid this might happen" she confesses. "I don't know. I thought maybe it should. I hoped that it might. I could never tell if that was what you wanted. I don't…"

You kiss her deeply to stifle her concern. Wrapping your fingers in her hair you cant your hips to met hers so that you can throw her over again, gently of course, and pin her beneath you. You straddle her navel with your knees on either side of her hips and sit back resting your hands on her chest. A finger to her lips. Her breath catches. Her eyes flutter and you continue tracing the lines where your kisses have already been, where more of them will be, not once breaking eye contact even as her hips raise and fall, as your pelvis rocks and spreads to smooth tremors beneath you.

As soon as you release her lips from your fingers, again she speaks," I don't want you to think that… que je profiterais.. you.. you…"

You press into her with the heel of your palm behind you. Her back rises and falls. Her breath short and straining. Her arms anchor firmly on your hips pushing you down harder and harder into her center as she shutters beneath you and shakes. You can see her eyes start to well. She tries to cover them, but it's too late.

"Shhhhhh, mon amour, stop, stop" you beg "I've got you. I adore you. Don't worry. You did not take advantage of me. I promise. I can't think about anything other than making love to you right now. Shhhh... That is all."

She laughs a familiar Delphine-like laugh and kisses the tips of your fingers one at a time in thanks. One single tear runs from her left eye and you kiss it away swiftly. Then you slide down from the seated position, your bellies touch, your breasts meet, your legs weave and your arm wraps around her shoulders to raise her head to meet your mouth. You kiss in languid strokes of surrender and discovery, playfulness and anticipation. You slide your other hand inside her so gently, so easily, and hold her burning pulse in your palm. She unfurls for you like a flower, until one, two, three, four, thumb, wrist, small circles turn, that suspend her disbelief as long as her body allows. You kiss the fear out of her eyes and smooth the stress from her skin. She eventually breaks like the light over the horizon and you both weep for the sheer joy, the adorable irony, the absolute gift of it. In the end she cradles your entire body like the moon and you both finally give in, to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

 _ **"We let our bodies say what our hearts can not"**_

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

Reviewers, thank you for your kind words! I think this will keep writing itself really. :)

* * *

You wake to the familiar pounding of a hung over body, hanging over limbs longer than your own, freckled and fair, and blond wisps of hair curled to your sticky cheek. As you quietly try to reach for the water, miraculously present on the bedside, the stunning nude beside you stirs and purrs like a kitten, stretching out beyond the territory of the bed, only to retract like a raptor pulling you back to the tender place just beneath her chin, so she can wrap her arms round your warm belly, her legs round your tired hips.

"Morning buddy" she whispers to the top of your head, loose curls, some brown, some gold, everywhere.

"How did you sleep?" she asks, planting a sweet kiss to the sweet spot where your curls meets your salty skin. You chuckle remembering kissing her there so innocently yesterday. Yesterday when everything was different.

Shaking yourself from the thought, you manage to reply "um… better than I have in months, actually."

You can feel her smile behind you and feel her long fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin under the single sheet. "I'm not surprised. The air here can do that. It's so free of, of everything distracting. That's part of why I love it."

You roll over to be able to look at her. You need to assess how much of what you might remember is actually real. But what you see confirms the suspicions still burning in your thighs, your abs, your back and your oh too tired smile. Her cheeks are perfectly flushed. Her shining eyes, also tired, but glistening. Your muscles remember what your mind might want to avoid. Still it smells like sex. It smells like great sex. It smells like her and you in a pile of dirty sheets, lush and radiant in the midday sun. But you don't say that. You say, "Yea, everything here is just super pure, clean. It's like I'm just breathing more deeply or something."

"Or that you had six or seven orgasms last night" she says with a chuckle, like she's just won the lottery and is quite impressed with herself.

"Or that." You reply and rest your head back on her clavicle and trace small circles on her bare breast in front of you for a moment. Her skin is mercifully soft. She pulls the tangles out of the back of your hair while gently scratching the nape of your neck with her nails.

It is quiet for a long time.

Long enough to almost dose off. Long enough to consider kissing for many more hours.

Long enough to feel a tear fall to your shoulder just before you sense a long inhalation followed a tiny voice behind you.

"Thank you" she coos with a kiss to the back of your head. "Thank you for sharing so much with me." Her voice starts to shake a little and the words lilt more unevenly in her hesitation. Perhaps she is searching for a translation, or specificity English cannot immediately offer. "I spend so much time in awe of you."

You freeze. You don't know how to reply. So you thread her fingers in your own and hold her as tightly as you can. Pull her closer to you. Hug yourself with her arms.

"Really I do," she continues. "You're this magical artist. This amazing woman. I don't have words to tell you how much I have learned from you, am learning from you, and I don't know. Sometimes a kiss says what words cannot. I think now you know."

The smile you feel surfaces from your solar plexus and any worry about this, this turn of events, that you woke with immediately diffuses.

"I know that I feel the same way" you reply, almost speaking directly to her beautiful hands. "I think, I do. I know, I do, actually. It's like when you appreciate and adore someone so much and there is nothing left to say, but you…"

She interrupts first with her lips on your neck. Then her tongue under your ear. Then a shiver down your spine followed by her voice, "you have no choice but to let them feel what you feel any way that you can."

"Actors are so emotional. So kinesthetic. So vulnerable. We are so demanding that way. Really Actors are so funny" you suggest, turning into her welcoming kiss.

"Some might not think that," she suggests, ghosting her nails from your hips to your neck and back again.

"Then, fuck them," you answer, your tongue pressed to her throat, cautious not to leave marks, of course.

"Or, don't fuck them," she laughs sliding her palm between your quivering thighs.

"Exactly," you exhale hard as your leg peels back and again your body demands the attention she so eagerly supplies.

Your breath hitches and your body craves and aches at the same time.

"I.." you stall.

"Oui" she cries.

You still her hand with your own and meet her breath with parted lips.

Your foreheads connect on the same pillow, your breasts just inches apart.

"Wait" you plead, your heart beat erratic, your head swimming.

Her eyes drop from yours, crestfallen, embarrassed.

You take her chin in your hand and force her eyes to reconnect. Her fingers still respectfully on your center. You bring yours back down to cradle hers.

"I don't know what this is, but I need you to know that I don't regret it, and I didn't even realize how much I …. It's just overwhelming. I mean, I'm feeling. I'm feeling so much, it's like I'm buzzing and I want you, right now, I want this, so badly, but I'm, I don't know what else to say…"

She takes your face in both of her hands. You kiss her thumbs so close to your mouth. "We let our bodies say what our hearts can not" she assures you.

"And that's okay?"

"That's okay."

"That's okay."

"We're okay."

"We're okay.

"Of course we're okay." She kisses you like you're the sweetest thing on the planet. She kisses each of your eye lids. Each of your cheeks. She kisses your shoulders. Your stomach. Your hip bones. Each vertebrae of your spine. Your knee caps. Your belly. Your inner arms. The dimples on the small of your back. Your ear lobes. Your nose. Your breasts. Your neck. Your hands. Your palms. Your thighs. She kisses you until your heart stops racing. She kisses you and sighs.

"When was the last time you made love to a woman?" she asks, looking up from your left knee where she's been kissing constellations between your freckles.

"I don't know, almost ten years ago, and I don't think it counted. It was the only time I was ever with a woman, a girl, actually. Why?"

"Because I still can't stop thinking about what happened last night. I would swear you've had a lot more practice"

"You think so? That's funny."

"What's so funny about you doing things to my body, no one has ever been able to do before?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think, I've ever felt so… full.. in my life." Her eyes widen. She swallows hard.

"Oh. Yea. That. Oh dear." You immediately remember and feel yourself blushing all over. In the moment, sex is hot. Talking about sex, after, not so hot.

You wave a little jazz hand her way. "Tiny hands. What can I say?"

She laughs. "Oh I'm not complaining"

"I didn't think you were. To be honest, it's not about what I did, or didn't do. I think your magical body dictated that whole thing. I was just listening to your instrument and following my instincts."

"As you do"

"As we do."

"But yea, that was pretty amazing. Bodies are amazing."

"Yes." She bites her bottom lip and her eyes roll up in the memory of it.

You can almost hear the sounds she made as she came around your fist and near crushed you in her arms in the after shocks that followed.

Wow. So that. Happened. Yea.

"Come here" you say, taking her hand and pulling her up to lie in your lap. She drapes herself over your thighs and you pick up the constellation hunting on her long torso with your finger tips.

"Your body is a wondrous adventure Ms. Brochu. Thank You for deeming me worthy of your many many gifts."

She cocks a silly smile in response. "My body is hungry. And dirty. Right now." Her laughter is as soothing as her touch.

"Mine too" you chuckle in reply. "Showers and dinner soon?"

"Yes please," she purrs.

"More please," you beg.

"You please," she confirms.

"Now please," you sigh into her wanting and welcoming smile.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

 ** _"Y_** ** _ou kind of wish you had one of Cosima's push up bras, because she really does have a better bust line than you and that's a little ridiculous because though she is not real, her fabulous bras in the wardrobe trailer sure are._** ** _"_**

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

Reviewers, thank you for your kind words! What do we think so far? Keep going? More romance, more angst? More reality? :)

* * *

When you step out of the small bathroom Évelyne is standing in front of the mirror wrapping her hair into a knot on the top of her head. Half dressed in just a skirt and a translucent lace bra, she doesn't turn as you step into the room. She doesn't have to, as she can see you coming up behind her, facing the mirror. You watch the interaction in the reflective glass. Awkwardly adjusting your towel, oddly self conscious, given the givens, hair dripping all over the place like a hot little mess.

She's putting on make up. She clearly does this every day, with or without a make up artist, and she's so good at it. Eyes, lips, mascara, powder. It's fast and efficient and specific and you could stay mesmerized watching her fuss through two make up bags worth of colorful pallets, brushes and tubes. She makes being so lovely look like it is no big thing. You can't help but think, damn, I have to pay people to make me look like that much of a girl.

"So we're dressing up?" you ask approaching her shoulder, happy to stay suspended in the bubble of this moment for as long as possible.

"Dressing up is relative. The restaurant I want to take you to is casual. Just be comfortable, I guess. Anything would be fine."

"But not my sweats? Or my board shorts? I love that 'comfortable', for you, is a skirt, doing up your hair and a face full of make up." You kiss her bare shoulder to punctuate the point. Her skin smells like you seriously could skip another meal and go right back to bed.

"Tat, you can wear whatever you like. No one is judging you."

"I'm judging me. I don't want anyone to think you're my au pair, or recognize us for that matter. And I didn't bring all that much with me. I seriously thought I'd be in yoga clothes all weekend. It's a hard call."

"Wear the little black dress you had me put in the closet" she offers. "It's adorable. You're adorable. Keep it simple. Wear your sneakers."

"Perfect, idea. Thank you."

You drop your towel where you are and disappear into the bedroom to retrieve the dress, keenly aware of her eyes on your body as you pass through to the other room.

"I felt that!" you sass her through the wall, imagining her blush on the other side of the door.

"Yea, and?" Her mouth must be contorted into some lip color application or something because she sounds under water.

"I liked it." You can feel your whole body smile.

It's not that you haven't been objectified before. It's not that you haven't been physically intimate with people before. It's not that you haven't felt beautiful before. But when Évelyne looks at you it is different. When Évelyne looks at you it doesn't feel like an invitation, or an attempt to protect or defend or devour you, when Évelyne looks at you it feels like a blessing.

When you emerge from the bedroom, braless, but dressed (you kind of wish you had one of Cosima's push up bras, because she really does have a better bust line than you and that's a little ridiculous because though she is not real, her fabulous bras in the wardrobe trailer sure are) you see Évelyne look up from the make up mirror, doll eyes blinking, perfect pout colored a dark wine red, her long hands smoothing moisturizer all over her neck, shoulders, chest and arms.

"Let me get your back" you offer taking the bottle from her hands.

"Thank you" she replies as you press the pump a few times and thread the cool cream between your fingers and transfer it evenly to her shoulder blades, the dip in her back along the ridge of her spine and maybe even a little around the circle of her hips, just south of her navel, and up the sides of her far too present ribs. "That feels incredible." She says, "Your hands are so soft, and so small." She giggles and takes them in her hands and opens your palms and places a perfect red kiss on the inside of each one. "Not that small means that they are not capable of greatness" she adds with a smirk.

You're pretty sure your face is flushed again. No make up needed to pink up your cheeks. Not here. Not with her. Feeling squirmy in your boy shorts, under your little black dress, again, you wrap your arms around her in a tight embrace so that you can see the lip prints on your hands looking over her bare shoulder. You can feel her squeeze you tight. You squeeze back. Your heart flutters. Your stomach drops and it's like an insatiable desire to climb inside her skin takes over all else. You can feel her breath on your back and open your mouth to kiss her bare skin. Your tongue circles a line of stars just under her hair line and you can feel her body tense against your own. Your hands curve under her skirt to feel her bare skin on the muscular curves underneath. Your kiss trails forward to her neck. Her breath hitches and you realize she's not kissing you back. Terrified you step back.

Your eyes meet.

"The Lipstick" she says. "I don't want to get it all over you. You just showered."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I guess I…"

She takes your little fresh kissed hands into her own and places a perfectly chaste kiss square on your lips.

"They'll be more time for making a mess after dinner, though. I promise."

With that, she steps back to her bag, ruffles through some options and covers her torso in a simple cotton tank that leaves very little of her under clothes a secret.

"You look beautiful" you say as in a daze. Watching her move around the room is as intoxicating as kissing the inside of her thigh. You feel high. Lightheaded even.

"Tat, you're a little glassy eyed. Let's go eat. I bet your blood sugar's in the toilet" she says plainly grabbing a sweater and her purse.

"Right. Yes. Food. That would be great. Sorry. I'm a little punch drunk, I think."

"If that's what you want to call it, sure," she laughs swatting your behind as she pushes you out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

 _ **"'I almost cannot handle how sexy you are' falls out of your mouth faster than you can attempt to rewind and take it back."**_

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION. That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

Reviewers, thank you for your kind words! What do we think so far? Keep going? More romance, more angst? More reality? :)

* * *

When you arrive at the small café you're not surprised that the hostess recognizes your leggy companion or that they immediately start speaking in hushed voices and in French. At first you wince at the thought that there will always just be things you can't pick up on the fly because you're just not that fast in translating. It's like your brain can only manipulate so much stimuli at a time. Translating her French when you're so turned on to hear her speak it seems like a genuinely unfair request of yourself. That's funny. You think. You would have never had that thought a week ago. A week ago, mumbles McGee muttering to herself in French was a little annoying, if not a little cute. Now? Jesus, you should have brought more underwear.

But then you realize that the hushed request was to be seated in the back of the restaurant nearest the water, where the partially opened windows must make a full outdoor deck when it's warmer. You're grateful for the sweater you grabbed when Évelyne grabbed her own, and even more grateful to sit out of the view of most of the people present. In the back you won't have to worry about being overheard or "spotted" by anyone who might actually know who you are and who you probably shouldn't be holding hands with.

Truth be told you're holding her hand as you cross through the crowded café, with tables far too close together for a venue outside of a major city, because you're actually a little woozy and having not eaten in almost twenty four hours, and positive your blood sugar is positively in the toilet.

When your server drops a bread basket on your table with two glasses of ice water both of you reach for it as if it were the last food on earth. Normally you would avoid complex carbs, balance your proteins and fats, count the bottles of water you drink, your supplements and the minutes of cardio you can slam into a day, but right now all you can think about is getting that bread in your face.

Évelyne is cracking up across from you before you can even finish chewing the first bite. Her arms are flailing in front of her face like she's seen the most hilarious thing in the world and she's trying to rewind it. Rewind you. It's YOU. You're the thing that she's laughing at, slapping her thigh like an old man. God she's so cute and such a stock pile of contradictions.

"What?" you mumble out from behind some semolina, hand to your mouth, trying to be more polite than not.

"You're just, hilarious! Tat. It was like you've never seen bread before. Your eyes. They… they bugged out of your head and you snatched that bread like I was going to take it out of your mouth! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I'm not laughing at you. I am. I'm sorry that I'm laughing at you." There are actually tears running tracks down her cheeks. "That was just priceless."

"What can I say? I aim to please," you reply, taking another bite out of your slice with a side of heavy-handed sass.

Évelyne's laughter subsides and she blots her eyes with her napkin and picks little bites off of her own piece of bread in her hands. There's a few moments of quiet chewing. Both of you chuckling. Everything is just so much fun with her. Bread. Bread is funny with Évelyne. Of course it is. She's a clown on set, why wouldn't she be everywhere else?

She calmly takes your hand from across the table and caresses the back of your palm with her thumb.

"Whew. Here we are. Welcome. This is my favorite restaurant on the island. It is so good. Everything is good. Get whatever you want. We're celebrating."

You lean in and ask, "what are we celebrating?" and she abruptly drops your hand with a thud to the table below.

"Can I offer you something from our wine list, ladies?"

The server appeared as if from thin air. He continued, "If we are celebrating, perhaps can I offer Champagne? Proseco?"

"Yes." You reply without consulting Évelyne first. "Two Proseco. Thank you." And just like that, he was gone.

You return your gaze to your hand stilled on the table and she meets your eyes there. Gracefully picking up your fingers she turns your palm face up and traces the line of her lips still marked on your skin with her finger.

"I almost cannot handle how sexy you are" falls out of your mouth faster than you can attempt to rewind and take it back.

She lifts your hand to her mouth and kisses your palm again, this time letting her tongue gently touch your skin. Her eyes twinkle in the ambient lighting. The top she's wearing is blue, it makes her eyes look more green than gold, and you find yourself uncomfortably crossing and uncrossing your legs under the table.

"Are we on a date?" you finally ask, threading your fingers through hers and letting them relax together next to the near empty bread basket.

"I don't think so," she replies. "Isn't 'a date' going out with someone you think you might come to care for, to try them out, see if there is chemistry, see if you want to take the connection farther?"

"I guess" you feel yourself blink. Blink again. Waiting for further explanation, without knowing exactly what questions to ask. You don't date. You haven't gone on a date in years.

Her words shape like Delphine's in her reply. Methodical. Logical. "I mean, don't you think we're beyond a chemistry test, Tatiana?" Her answer seems is so clinically obvious, if emotionally obtuse.

"Yes, of course. I mean, I understand what happened yesterday. I understand caring so much for someone that lines get blurry and things get physical and I'm not emotionally unintelligent. I mean I get-"

She cuts you off. "Absolutely not. You're one of the most emotionally intelligent people I know. I think that is why this is possible."

"Why what is possible? I guess I am just trying to figure out what 'this' is. To you. To me. To our colleagues. To our boyfriends. I mean, wowah. We jumped into the deep end you know?"

"Yes, mon coeur, but we both know how to swim." Your eyes lock. Both of your heads tilt in unison to one side.

The server returns with two flutes sparking full of effervescent tings, like fireworks in a cocktail. "Have you decided?" he implores politely.

"I'm so sorry" you speak first. Évelyne sits back in her chair and seemingly starts to disappear. "We haven't even looked at the menu. We were talking."

"Not a problem miss. I'll leave you to decide and will be back shortly." With a slight bow, he's gone.

Évelyne's eyes are shifting about. She licks her lips nervously and you lift the fingers of her right hand with both of yours and spin the jewelry that rests between her knuckles. The effortless swagger that was so casually seated in front of you visibly melts into her chair at your touch. She opens her mouth to speak. Her lips making the perfect shaped 'O' but nothing comes out. You brush your thumbs over the back of her hand gently in encouragement and nudge her to speak.

"Évelyne? Whatever you have to say, it's okay. After yesterday, nothing you could say or do would shock me. I promise. Okay?" She doesn't move.

Then after a too long silence, she says "Maybe we should just order, and maybe talk later?"

With that the server returns, as if he was waiting for his cue, and you watch as Évelyne opens the menu and orders both meals, completely in French, only stopping to ask which dressing you prefer. It happened so fast that you are grateful for your weak translating skills and even more grateful that you've shared many meals together before this one, and Évelyne, thank god, knows how picky you are and what you like to eat.

"Thank you for ordering. I hope they're not going to be bringing me snails, or something covered in mustard. That would be very bad."

"Actually that's exactly what I ordered for you. Snails covered in mustard. Your French must be getting better! Bon travail de mon ami!"

Her chuckle is forced and insincere. Trying to hard to change the subject, perhaps?

"You know that's not funny right?"

Her eyes fall back to the table and she pulls back her hand from your touch.

"Évelyne? Stop. It's still me. Hi! I'm Tat. We're practically married on a TV show. Millions of baby lesbians love us. I butcher French. You think it's charming."

She folds her napkin and places it calmly on her legs, smiles, and glances around the dining room. Other couples are seated holding hands, leaning into each other with soft gazes and hushed whispers.

"Please talk to me, Evie. Please?"

But still she doesn't speak, but she looks up finally and her eyes are wet, her cheeks flushed beyond her make up's ability to conceal.

"Please, Évelyne, you're scaring me."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

 _ **"As if the kinesthetic, aesthetic, artistic, psychological attraction you share could possibly be reduced to something as simple as gender."**_

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

Please fav, follow and review.

* * *

Évelyne bites her bottom lip in the stifling a cry way, as opposed to the preparing to kiss you way, and starts to speak. She speaks in waves, her voice rises and falls, her hands swirl in the air space between you, to the table, to your face, to her own eyes and back again. When she's this flustered she slips back into her accent. Not quite Delphine, but certainly not the Évelyne that works so so hard to stay present in the neutral middle American English they teach in acting school.

Time suspends while you memorize the details of the moment. She got dressed up for you, even though the restaurant did not require it. She's so nervous to be emotionally present with you, despite the intimacy you've already shared. You're equal parts thrilled and terrified by her passion as she speaks.

"I just wanted to know, Tatiana. I needed to know. I needed to know what you felt like. What we felt like. I needed to see and feel and taste all of the things people see in our work – that we only imagine in our heads. I needed the pretend to be real. It felt like I was faking it and I can't fake it. I can't fake anything. And the more time I spent with you. The more amazed I have been by your craft, by the artistry you pull out of me and this connection I just feel beside you and your spirit and your laugh and the way your little teeth get caught in your lips when you smile. I just couldn't bare it, Tatiana. I had to know."

"Like, some kind of method acting thing?" You shouldn't have said that. It was keenly insensitive.

"I guess, but it was more than that."

"Because I'm a girl." As if the kinesthetic, aesthetic, artistic, psychological attraction you share could possibly be reduced to something as simple as gender. Jesus Tat, just let her speak.

"Yes, because you're a woman. But no. I've had sex with women before Tatiana, it is not that. You're just different. I just feel so much for you, with you. Not knowing if it was in my head is scary."

The words stop, but she's wringing her hands on the table, unable to hold eye contact.

"I don't know what to say," is the best you can offer. Your heart is racing. Your palms are sweating. There are so many variables. Touches and kisses and darkness and the texture of hands on your body is one thing, but naming it is something else.

"What do you need me to say? Évelyne? What do you need?"

"I don't know, what I need. I needed to hold you. Wake up with you. For months now it has felt like something was drawing me to you and I could not ignore it. The thought of not seeing you over hiatus was… is…"

"Devastating."

You finish the statement for her because you know exactly what she means. The time she's scheduled to be filming in Europe feels like a punishment, like someone is taking away the sun.

She continues, calming some, and taking your hand back into her own. "Yes. Devastating."

Finally, she exhales, and smiles again. "I'm going to miss you. Like, a lot."

The server sees a pause in the intensity of your conversation and approaches the table. He presents your meals swiftly and gracefully retreats. The food looks like something out of a magazine and smells absolutely glorious. His timing couldn't be better.

"I'm going to miss you too, lady. You know that."

Évelyne smiles, softly, fusses with her napkin, lifts her fork, plays with her food in the plate. You're not quite sure where this is going, but you know that yesterday was a game changer, a tectonic shift, an unexpected curve ball that is obviously still spinning. Now looking at a plate full of rocket and shaved cheese, Tom's smile creeps into your mind. He's steady hand, hearty laugh. His beautiful mind. His humor. His hair. You haven't checked your phone in almost 48 hours and he must be worried. Actually he wouldn't be. You're solid like that. You don't have to talk every day and he knows where you are and who you're with. Yes, Tom knows where you are and who your with.

And you look across the table and there is this incredible human being. Radiant, visceral, tactile and full of fire. This utterly brilliant woman, who in two days' time has completely unraveled everything you thought you knew about what you want and what you need and what your body responds to in real time. Because in real time her hands on your body are more thrilling and resonant and profound than any intimate exchange you've ever had. This want, is a whole new world.

"But Tom," you say. To her. To your plate. To yourself. To him.

When she speaks again her voice is somehow lighter. More delicate and selective in her word choice, as if she rehearsed this part in her mind knowing the conversation would inevitably turn to the men in your lives. She says, "When I asked Tom if I could steal you away for the weekend- to say thank you for such a wonderful season- he didn't question my motives for a second. I mean this season in Toronto. It has been so good for me. So good for us, I think. I hope. You think so? I mean Tom totally seemed to understand. He was so generous, Tat. He's amazing."

"I know. He IS amazing. And I love him very much. But we're also actors Évelyne. We made a promise to each other a very long time ago that no matter what we're working on and who we have to "fuck" on camera, or who we might end up fucking off camera as a result, we will always be honest with each other, and always meet on the other side."

"Wow. He didn't tell me that. That's remarkable."

"It's not remarkable, so much as it is realistic. We've both been burned trying to stay in monogamous relationships in this business before."

"Understandable, I guess." You can see the wheels cranking behind her temples. She's trying to hard to embrace the selflessness of your relationship, the unimaginable amount of trust you must share. And you realize that must be why her last relationship ended. You make a choice to push her to say too much about herself. When she's ready to talk about her own beau, she will.

"Tom's last few projects have been a lot racier than ours, I assure you." You laugh at the thought of the bruises he'd come home with and the stories you'd listen to without jealousy really. He always came home, and treated you like a queen. Now the tables were turned and you can't help but wonder if his response will be as apathetic as yours, or if he had seen this coming. You certainly didn't, until you absolutely did.

Évelyne snaps you back to the present. "So really, your relationship is open to work-related, work respected, I don't know what to call it, it's not an affair, or a tryst, is it? Oh god."

"I would like to think it isn't research," you offer with a scoff.

"But it IS!" she replies. "It is! It is! Maybe that is why I just became consumed with the idea of knowing what it was like for Delphine to connect with Cosima on such a layered, emotional and physical and passionate way."

Finally the panic in her eyes vanishes and she smiles her fully dimpled beautiful smile.

"Research. This is research. We're working right now. Ha."

"Or maybe it's just because we're both so hot?"

With that Évelyne lifts a radish out of her salad plate and throws it right into your face.

"Yes that MUST be it" she says cackling, hands flailing adorably. "Can we please drink to that?"

"Of course!"

"To research!"

"To research."

You both finish your drinks on the decent and you quickly catch the server's eye to replenish your glasses.

Évelyne grabs your hand and squeezes, hard, her eyes full of relief and sparkle.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

 _ **"Just stay with me. Stay with my eyes."**_

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

Please fav, follow and review, if you'd like.

* * *

Walking back to the flat from the small stretch of town where you had dinner feels like something out of storybook romance novel. The salty air swims gently around your relaxed bodies. The stars swing through textured hues of purple, dark blue and grays in the sky. The anxiety of the dinner table conversation ebbs and flows into the ocean as the gentle waves roll and recede into a calm sea.

It is difficult not to imagine how different your life would be if your primary parter was a woman, or if it would really be any different at all. When people pass you walking with your arm tucked into her arm, do they assume that you've had incredible sex? That you likely will again? That she can play your body like a cello and you've never been more satisfied sexually than in her arms? No. They probably can't.

Your empathy for the gay people you know has always run so deep, maybe you finally understand why. Labels are stupid, you know that. What's the point? You love who you love and what goes on in your bedroom is no one's business other than yours and whomever is lucky enough to be with you. But suddenly there's this whole other clarity, and a whole new mountain of questions.

Évelyne stops for a moment and slides her manicured fingers through your own and turns your body to hers. She raises her arms to your face, taking your cheeks in her palms and pulls you up onto your toes to kiss. So sweetly, she opens her mouth and leans into you, holding the back of your head in her hands, her thumbs firm on your face with unyielding tenderness. (Damn it Delphine!) Your knees give. She catches the small of your back with one of her arms. You feel your head fall as you hear her exhale, warm in the quiet night, pulling your body close to her, cradling you to her chest.

"Dance with me," she says with a cheshire cat grin to the top of your head.

You look up and meet her eyes. "What? Here?" For a moment you regret the sneakers. She just feels so tall in proper shoes while you're in a pair of Adidas.

"Yes. Dance with me."

She places your arms in the appropriate positions and levels your chin with her finger.

"I'll lead, because I'm taller. Just stay with me. Stay with my eyes."

Évelyne's form is flawless. Years of ballet sculpted circles from planes and her arms are unbelievably lean and strong. As her chest lifts you cannot help but follow suit and try to mimic what you see. But it is more, what you feel. Her grasp on your hand is relaxed, her palm on your back, specific. She nods to the right side and steps, whirling you immediately into swift patterns that come easily, playfully, adorably so. She keeps you locked tightly to her gaze and her smile and for a moment you feel like Maria being lead by the Count in _The Sound of Music_ and that makes you laugh which makes her laugh which makes the passers by applaud the darling sight of you spinning together in the moon light.

Eventually your giggles shatter into a kiss and she presses her hips to yours and you have to consciously stop your heel from popping up behind you because that, you've decided, is a little too Disney cliché.

"Take me to bed" you husk into her ear as an embrace unfolds, "now."

The few minutes of walking back to the cabin are giddy with anticipation. The cat is out of the bag so to speak. There is no reason to fear rejection, or confrontation, or complication. Everyone's cards are on the table and the present moment dissolves into nothing other than her hand in yours as you fumble with the key to the door and eventually pull her through the threshold by her quivering finger tips.

You both kick off your shoes upon entry and before you can even think about removing your dress yourself you find your hips in her hands being pushed to the back of the door as it closes behind you. Évelyne's magical hands are so fast. She scoops you up from around your thighs, lifts your dress up to around your ribcage in seconds, and your legs wind tightly around her waist soon after. You feel weightless, tiny, yet still feminine and wanted in her arms.

Where last night's kisses were tentative and full of exploration and wonder, tonight's have the gravitas of permissions granted and anxieties quelled. There is an honor in it really. Your mouths and chests meet with an intense and sincere reverence. Yesterday might have started when you both were a little drunk, giving into affection and curiosity and perhaps a little bit of danger, tonight, absolutely not. Two pairs of sober and present eyes meet and words fail you both. Yesterday might have been about fucking, this most certainly is not.

You cannot stop kissing her sweet mouth, her neck, her face, her eyes, that precious place under her ear that still tastes like the citrusy musk of her perfume, as she carries you both to the other room. You hang from her neck like a string of roses as she lays you down on the bed and climbs up beside you. Never breaking the link of your mouths as you sink into soft linen and peel off her tank top, her bra, push down the skirt, remove every inch of fabric separating her skin from yours as quickly and un-clumsily as possible. She returns the favor using fingers, tongue and teeth to bare your shaking form beneath her, both of you suddenly exposed, cold and flushed, diving under covers without breaking an effortless kiss.

"Wow," she says pulling you close, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, weaving your legs together, meeting your hips.

"Wow," you reply searching for her mouth, threading your fingers through her hair, feeling her pelvis start to rock with your own as your heart rates escalate in tandem.

Kisses chase friction. Hands palm tension. Fingers carve caverns of questions, quickly.

"Just stay with me," you say to her collar bones, desperate to find her eyes in the dark. "Just, stay with my eyes."

She looks down to meet your gaze. Her eyes wide, golden, wet. You can feel her fingers inside you and feel yours inside of her. The puzzle of your bodies is so beautifully balanced that each thrust of your hips rewards her and vice versa, without ever loosing her gaze, or her lips, or her your arms around each other's shoulders. You rock and breathe and sigh and squirm through clenched jaws and wiggling toes until you feel her whole body freeze with rigid anticipation sending your own into an accelerated climb. She's holding her breath, waiting for you to catch up, spinning your very center with her hand, which you do, and the moment comes when miraculously you release in unison, exhaling sloppily, shaking with cool sweat and unfurling from one another like petals splitting from a bud.

For a moment you both face the ceiling, flat on your backs, your breath settling, your fingertips linked between you. The rhythm of haphazard exhalations is interrupted by her soft laughter, followed by your own, as you turn back to face each other's smiles. Foreheads touching between the pillows pushed aside, your eyes meet again.

You break the silence.

"I made a decision while we were walking home."

"Oh yea?" she says wiping your hair from your brow, tucking a damp curl or two behind your ear. "What was that?"

"I don't want to go home tomorrow. So I booked us a flight back on Tuesday. Gives us one more day. Is that cool?"

"That's wonderful" she replies, leaning in for a full and grateful kiss.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter 12**_

 _ **"It is not linear, or predictable. There's no sequence of events or person in control."**_

* * *

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

I appreciate your thoughts, more than you can imagine.

* * *

In the morning you wake early and leave your sleeping princess hugging a pillow with a lazy smile on her pink lips. You tip toe out of the bedroom, quickly wash the layer of sweat and sex off of your hands, face and belly before climbing into some running clothes and take off for a few miles. There are half dozen or so other people running along the shoreline, not in the sand, thank god. You're thankful for the paved trail under your feet as your mind moves from counting breathes to counting how many times and how many ways you felt your body, your mind, and quite possibly your heart, turned inside out since you boarded the train in Toronto.

It's not that you didn't understand the concept of bisexuality, you know plenty of people who live quite happily unaligned with a black or white definition of sexual orientation. But for you. For you. Better not to put a label on it and just be present in the now. Each step. Each breath. Each kiss. Even if the now is very much unsettling with your understanding of the past. Yes, you've kissed other women before. Who hasn't? But what's happening with Évelyne, what's happening with Évelyne. Your feet crash into the pavement before you and even as the sweat starts to pool at the base of your spine, you can't see or hear or smell anything other than the lines of her body, the sound of her sighs and the smell of your bodies colliding over and over and over again.

It is really the number of times, the number of ways, the seemingly infinite variety of touches and tastes and the geometry of her body with your own that just blows your mind. Making love to Évelyne is like spiraling down into the most comfortable and safe landscape. It is not linear, or predictable. There's no sequence of events or person in control. There's no rush to, or from, an orgasm. There's no competition. It is playful and sweet, passionate and intense. All of those things and so many more.

Making love with Évelyne is like improv. As a partner she's so present and generous and unpredictably clever. She pitches new tactics and new ideas and demands the same in return. So the conversation of touch, taste and surprise is constantly undulating and shifting, leaving tectonic shocks in beautifully laid gardens, stunning explosions of compassion, synergy and want. Orgasms come in waves, like the water lapping the shore. You don't even remember choosing to sleep last night. Just wave after wave crashing over your body. You have no idea how many, or for how long.

Your mind stops you in your tracks. That's it. Sex with Évelyne isn't about sex. It's not goal oriented like so much of the liaisons you've had before. It's about listening with your hands and your muscles and your mouth. It's full bodied communication. Sex with Évelyne is about you. And about her. And about being so dropped into the moment that you have no other choice but to fly.

You turn back towards the cabin with a little more speed in your stride.

Running back is so much easier than running from, isn't it? You laugh as you accelerate your stride. Your steps are lighter, your hips are looser, thank god, and you can feel yourself smiling under your shades. Your hair bounces behind you and you're certain you could easily be mistaken for a teenager which just makes you chuckle under your steady breath and press on.

When you arrive back at the cabin, soaking wet and probably smelling like an ogre, Évelyne is curled into an arm chair nursing a cup of tea with a book on her knee. You can see her through the window on the door and you can't help but stare. Wearing nothing but baby blue knickers and yesterday's tank top, resting her chin on her knee, with her hair nearly a crown on her head, she is just so precious. Her glasses make her look younger and you feel like you're getting a glimpse back to her life ten years ago. Before the modeling and the conservatory, the films and TV shows. No make up, very little sleep, certainly not aware that she's being watched, you see her in plain light with a clear mind and heart and know that you're a very lucky woman.

"Hey" you exhale as you slip through the door trying to sweep by right into the shower.

"Hey" she looks up and smiles lazily, reaching her hand out for you to touch.

"I'm disgusting, I'm going to take a quick shower." You blow her a kiss and she catches it, playfully slapping it into place on her own cheek.

"I'll meet you in there at the end of this chapter. It will take a few minutes, so don't rush" she says, barely looking back up from her book.

"Kay," you reply as you peel off your shorts and sports bra in the other room, run the water, and catch a quick glimpse of your own reflection over the sink.

Change looks good on you, Tat. It really does.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

 _ **"You are just two women, two girls, two girls old enough to be women, young enough to feel like girls"**_

* * *

Sorry for the delay in this chapter - I was out of town without my computer. BUT - it's a long chapter to make up for it I hope. :)

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

I sincerely hope you will review. I like this chapter a lot, and hope you do to!

* * *

The coolish water peels over you, taking street grit, sweat and second guesses with it as it warms. You quickly go through the motions of washing the knots out of your curls, shaving the essentials, and scrubbing yourself to your squeaky cleanest before loosing yourself to the water, letting it pummel your back and hips, the top of your head and hands, until the temperature starts to fluctuate and you know perhaps you've been in a bit too long. You could stand submerged in the water, facing the stream, indefinitely if you let yourself, but there's a gravity pulling your wet skin into the other room. Unexpectedly tendrils of icy water trickle from the back of your head to your shoulders and the curve of your back and shivers spike through your spine. The sudden cold is invigorating, inspiring, and cause and effect in real time. Similar to the kisses that now interrupt your day dreams, your night dreams, your waking day, your waking night. Before you can open your eyes to turn off the water you feel Évelyne's warm hands on your shoulders behind you.

"Oh my god. Shit. You frightened me," you say over your shoulder seeing her most cheeky grin and raised eyebrow.

"I'm sorry," she whispers directly into your ear as she slips her tongue onto the wet surface between your neck and your shoulder, the warm dry curves of her naked body pressing directly into the damp planes of yours.

It really is remarkable how quickly your knees buckle at her touch. Jell-o.

You reach your hand to the faucet and she stills it with her own.

"No leave it. My hair is still wet anyway. I showered while you were running," she says as she turns down the cold, turns up the hot, and takes you in her arms.

"Oh" creeps out of your mouth as you turn to find her open lips, and collapse into her kiss.

"Well this is new" you giggle, breaking away briefly to wipe the water held captive in your lashes.

"It's kind of all new, I suppose," she replies palming her long hands on your back, sliding them slowly to the curves of your bottom, "and I just can't seem to stop… to stop…"

She pulls her head back a bit, without letting go of your body, as if the word she's looking for is etched on the ceiling of the shower and will drop into her head at any second.

"…to stop?" you interrupt playfully, "To stop sneaking up on me like a lioness? Kissing me until I collapse like a house of cards? Filling me with unimaginable…"

"Yes. Filling you. Unimaginable. All of those things," she giggles, wiping your hair off your shoulder and clearing a new place to kiss between the streams cascading from above.

"This is all just so new. It's very overwhelming," you confess. "I can't get over how tiny you feel in my arms. How much more balanced I feel when we… you know. Does that makes sense?"

"It does." Her eyes are warm and comforting in her answers. She places her wet palms on your cheeks and pulls you out of the water and into a deep kiss. When she surfaces to breathe, she continues,"being with women, especially women that are smaller than me, always makes me more aware of how much space I take up, and how to be more specific about touch, about power, about exchange. There is just no set way to 'do it'. I love that."

"I do too" you reply, sinking to your knees, grateful for the long length of the tub and keenly aware of the seemingly insatiable hunger you feel at the very pit of your stomach. You watch her eyes watch you descend and you cannot help but smile as her mouth opens in shock and her breath hitches back with a flinch. Her thighs tense, her hands brace the wall behind and beside her in anticipation. Her torso blooms pink like a bed of roses at your touch.

Gently you lift her leg to bend at the knee and rest her foot on the side of the tub nearest the curtain. You run your hand over the top of her toes, her purple toe nails, you press your thumb into the stunning arch of her foot and her knees give a little. It's a relief that you're not the only one weak-kneed around here.

"Even your feet are beautiful, Évelyne. It is almost unfair."

"Unfair?" she laughs, palming the crown of wet curls on your head. "I'll be sure to tell my mom, you said so."

"You know what I mean. You're just somewhat unreal to me."

You kiss the inside of her calf, her knee. The scar from the surgery she told you about - after the bicycle accident that made an actor of the ballerina. You can taste the salt on her skin, despite being in the shower, and smell the texture of the air change with each subsequent and deepening kiss. "Oh I'm quite real" she says with broken breath and clumsy words. You kiss her hips and her belly, the outer curve of her thighs and her navel. You wrap your arms around her bum and pull her forward, dropping your own head into the stream of water, running warm plumes over your eyes, her stomach and sex.

She wipes the hair back off of your forehead, without you having to ask, and you take her hand in your own. You kiss her palm in gratitude and place her fingers back to the wall, hoping you're getting good enough at this to warrant her holding on.

Using just your lips and tongue, you kiss your way down from her bellybutton, pausing to let your nose to part her sex and the warm water, like a river. Little waves runs right over the small rising pebble centered between your steady hands. In the gentle morning light, dappling through the skylight above, her quivering hips, and the pink landscape before you is the most delicately freckled and breathtaking work of art you've ever seen. So you take her into your lips and let the pebble spin on your tongue and bounce though the running water. The water changes the texture of your kiss, increases the friction, intensifies the contact, and you can feel the acceleration of her heartbeat on your tongue.

First you hear the hand behind her slip on the tile as her knees buckle and she starts to fall. You tighten your arms around her waist from behind and assure her that she's stable. You feel her exhale and then her arm comes round to your head and both presses and pulls from behind. Her hips start to buck and she inevitably starts to bear down on your mouth and rock. You sink lower so that you can get under her really, and then she looks down and meets your eyes while you bite and suck and kiss and hold and spin and flick and tongue every bit of her that you can between breaths.

Her body is tensing in your arms and you know she's dangerously close to climax, but before you can brace yourself for the coming quake, you feel her pelvic bone come crashing down on your nose sharply. For a split second you're concerned you might actually be bleeding, but as she bites her bottom lip in silent apology, you move back enough to breath deeply, trust that you're fine, and dive right back in.

"Up" she says, as she grabs your shoulders and pulls you to standing, "I need to kiss you," she demands. "Right now."

She quickly takes your tongue into her mouth and wraps her arms tightly around your shoulders and head, as if she's trying to touch more of you, all of you, at once.

You manage to slip your hand between her thighs and tickle her just one more time, tipping her right over the edge into a clear and specific release, all whimpers and shouts, clenched teeth on your neck, nails scraping your back and arms. The shaking stalls to giggling, stammers to shivering, near stumbling to stillness and you hold her tightly, gently rubbing her back, kissing her shoulders, pressing your breasts tightly to hers, your tummies touching, yours ever so slightly lower, like puzzle pieces that effortlessly fit.

"Now who's surprising who?" she says meekly to the wall behind you, still wound tightly in your embrace.

You kiss her shoulder, and her cheek and her mouth and her nose on your way back standing fully upright. You pop up on your tip toes to gently kiss her forehead. You feel her hands fumbling behind you to turn off the water and slowly you separate to wipe water from your faces, push hair out of the way and take stock of your wrinkling finger tips and toes.

"That's some shower," you say with a sarcastic grin as you step over the edge of the tub to towel waiting below. You take Évelyne's hand and she does the same, meeting you toe to toe in the small square of terry cloth on the floor.

Standing before each other naked, in the day light, is a first. There is no make up, no clothing, no costume, nor character. No artifice of any kind to hide behind. You are just two women, two girls, two girls old enough to be women, young enough to feel like girls, blushing crimson shades of vulnerability in waves, on a towel in a little beach house on the water.

"Tat -" she starts to speak but stops when you eyes instinctively look away. It's too intense maybe? You don't know why you did that and you immediately feel badly about it.

"Tatiana, look at me"

"I'm sorry, I am looking at you," you reply with a smile focused at her collar bones, which you suddenly find yourself tracing with your finger tip. "I can't take my eyes off of you, actually."

"I'm not kidding, Tat. Look at my eyes."

There are more specks of color on the right collar bone, than the left.

"Tat? Please."

Her request isn't demanding, or unwelcome. It is neither apologetic nor affected. It is simply plainly stated and honest. But when you meet Évelyne's eyes again, she's full on crying. Tears trickle down her flushed cheeks, freely spilling around her adorable dimpled smile.

She locks her eyes into yours and continues, "I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, but I need to make sure that you hear it." She wipes her cheek with her own hand and laughs. "Okay?"

Your mouth hangs loose from your jaw, unable to speak. Évelyne's brow furrows and she reaches out to touch your seemingly cold response.

"Tatiana? You okay?"

Something in you snaps, like being jolted awake from a daze, or shocked cold by a sudden change in the temperature of the shower water.

"I am. I am. I promise. Thank you. I'm more than okay. I'm amazing. And you're beautiful. And I'm beautiful. And this is beautiful and my fingers are pruney. And I don't care because I love this place. I love you. I love this day. Yea. I'm totally great."

She wraps your chilly body in a giant towel and hugs you to her body.

"Good. Thank god. You scared me for a second. Whew. Now, let's get dressed and get out of here. We have one more day to go adventuring. We've got a whole island out there to see."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14**_

 _ **"You can feel your heart humming under the surface, as is hers.** **With her chest pressed to your shoulder blades you can feel their erratic rhythm relax into a common thrum. The sound of their synchronicity brings tears to your eyes behind your shades."**_

* * *

Oh my! Thank you for the kind reviews, I wish I could reply to you each individually, but I so appreciate your support of this project. :)

That said, I know where and how I want to wrap this up and since it's Monday in the story and they're due to fly "home" shortly, it probably will wrap soon. Well that and I have to go back to school soon, so I can't spend a few hours writing every day! But who knows. I might have to, in order to get through this hiatus!

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

On Monday the number of people on the island thins out significantly, as weekend travelers jump on the ferry and make their way back to the daily grind. As you and Évelyne wonder about in shops and cafes you sense that you're both aware that you're ducking reality, despite your refusal to address it, hiding in plain sight, and not even entertaining the inevitability of going back to the way things were once back on the mainland.

But for the time being this might be the most vulnerable and lovely acting you've ever been able to entertain, because after all, you are acting. Acting out a fantasy? Research. Trying Cosima's life on for real? Loosing the fine line between Delpine and Évelyne? Minus the science of course, because despite being a mostly self-educated veracious reader, the idea of labs and blood and computers and stuff really is not your cup of tea. Science of the human heart? Well, that's a different story.

So the leaves of Cosima and Delphine, Tatiana and Évelyne, fold together on sunny side walks and quiet chatter over expresso in the morning, where Évelyne insisted that you sit corner to corner instead of across from her, and rests her hand gently on your knee, then tea in the afternoon, when you sit on the same side of the booth by choice, just so you can be there to tuck the rebellious curls behind her ear. But you know better. The magnetism between your bodies is visceral and specific. When she peels apart from you in a boutique to look at some colorful pants, her absence leaves you cold, your breath short, your mind terrifyingly aware of the time.

As soon as this thought registers, Évelyne moseys through the aisle of the boutique, her sunglasses hanging out of her mouth, balancing a take away tea cup with her bag in one hand, and a the hangers on a stack of colorful patterned harem pants pulling her fingers into a most unnatural position, in the other.

"What do you think? Help me pick one?" she mumbles out from behind the arm of her Ray Bans in her teeth. "Or two?"

"I think I should take some of that off your hands?" you reply, laughing at her ability to take up a ridiculous amount of space for such a slight woman. She might be a bit taller than you, but she's far from big, all elbows and knees that girl. Her limbs seem to go on for days.

You take the sunglasses from her smile and slip them into her bag before you slide it off of her hand and onto your shoulder. She must have a small SUV in there or something because the weight of her crap on your arm makes you feel weak, tiny, and perhaps a bit ill-equipped to be her wing-man on a shopping mission. For a second you wonder if this is how Tom feels when he's out with you.

"Does François do this?" The words jump out of your mouth faster than you can inhale them back in.

"What?" she replies, suddenly confused by the mention of his name. They've been on and off so many times and you're genuinely not sure what they are at the moment, so bringing him up is perhaps not the best choice.

"I mean, he'll grin and bear it about as long as I do, I mean, I hate shopping actually" she says, much to your surprise, given the incredible collection of clothing she owns. "I love clothes, I just hate the trying on and the fittings and the, you know."

"Yup," you reply hoping to shift the conversation as far from François as possible. "I'd much rather lay around in my sweats, actually."

"Or nothing at all" she concludes grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the back of the shop. "But trying things on now, is much more enticing to me."

She breezes past the young clerk with a smile and a nod and enters the dressing room farthest from the main sales floor. The clerk smiles at you as you follow behind, already starting to blush at her fierce grip of your hand. As she closes the dressing room door she quickly arranges her self and the objects in tow. The pants to the hooks on the wall, her bag to the floor, her jacket flung over the door. Then she places you on the small stool in the corner before she slips off her top and steps directly in front of you so that the center of her bra, where it clasps, is directly in front of your nose.

"Hi" slips out of your mouth as her fingers sink into locks of your hair that fall loosel over your shoulders, and she presses your face to her sternum and kisses the top of your head.

"I missed you" she says quietly, knowing the clerk is but a few dozen feet away at the entrance to the otherwise empty dressing rooms. For a moment you're thankful that it is Monday and the island, and this boutique, is practically empty.

"I'm right here," you reply, smiling up to her gaze, locking your eyes with hers, warmth spreading through your body like an explosion. She bends down to kiss you, quickly opening your lips with her own, pulling you close, pressing your body to her warm skin. As your foreheads and noses touch between kisses, you can't help but smile and laugh, noting that she's come in this room to try on pants and is standing before you topless.

The giggles erupt from your core in waves, "Um, Evie, you know that you wear pants on your bottom half, right?"

She immediately unbuttons her own trousers and pulls them off over her thin-soled sandals, just in time to swat you with them.

"Hush you," she say boring holes into your playfulness with her eyes. The she slowly slides her long fingers under your sweater and rolls it off of your back. She then lifts the hem of your T-shirt, ghosting a gentle trail with her nails on your spine as she peels it off over your head. She unclasps your bra in one try and falls to her knees before your bare chest. Her breath on your flushed skin is cool, her mouth hot, your mind chaos.

You clench your jaw and white knuckle the sides of the stool with your hands trying to keep yourself from squeaking, or sighing, or moaning, or anything that will give you up and send the clerk running to peer over the top of the door to check on you. As her lips and tongue paint circles all over your upper body you scan the ceiling for cameras, none, the floor thank god, meets the door, so it's really only from above that you can be seen. Thankfully the clerk was a small as you are – you think.

Resigned to the excitement, and confident you're well hidden, you give in to her demanding mouth and relax into the sweetness of her touch. Your arms embrace her crown of curls and you stand to meet her kiss, spare her back and knees, and quickly remove your own shoes and pants.

"Well then I want to try something on too" you manage to mumble to her neck.

"Shhhhhh" she commands in a whisper. "You can't let anyone hear you." Then at full voice she nearly speaks directly over the door, "Do you like the blue ones better? Or the green?" Oh my god, you think, she's utterly brilliant. Your head falls back to laugh and her hand immediately snaps over your mouth to muffle the eminent cry. "Only dressing room talk, got it?" You nod fiercely in approval.

"Definitely the green," you manage to articulate, grabbing her hand and placing it directly into the front of your knickers.

Her long fingers quickly submerge to the hilt. She's you backed against the wall, your legs wrapped around her waist as she presses into you as gently and as quietly as possible. It is so slow, so deliberate, so kind, so deep. And what is remarkable to you, in between gasps, and quivers, and your very impressive control of your breath, is that the slow and steady pressure of her hand expanding inside your body is no less arousing than the more dynamic, rhythmic, thrusting you might have been used too. In fact, the secrecy of this coupling reveals yet another way for your bodies to climb inside one another. You welcome her, unravel for her, she lets you slide back onto the stool and lie back as much as you can and her touch fills you to the point where you fear the climax will be wet and messy and probably not ideal for a somewhat public setting.

"No, No, I changed my mind. The blue. The blue, like water," you're trying to warn her. Trying to beg her to stop, but you really don't want her to stop.

"Evie, water, I…"

Her eyes register the information quickly and she pulls out, drops before you and buries her mouth to your center as you let go. It's not catastrophic, but it would definitely have left a small puddle on the carpet had she not quickly thought to catch you in her kiss, wrap you up with her tongue and absorb any traces of your orgasm that could possibly be left behind. You hold her head close to you, waiting for your heart rate to settle, for the after shocks to subside and your breath to level off and back to a normal rhythm. She dutifully, adoringly, rolls your epicenter on her tongue, between her teeth, inhales the very scent of you like she was inhaling rich honeysuckle blooming in the sun, or a wish.

"I love the blue ones too," she says, relaxing back onto her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her dry hand. Her eyebrows wriggle mischievously. "But I think you should get these. The floral ones are just so you."

"Okay. Yea, thank you. Thank you for making me try them on. Cool."

Resuming your regular banter, you redress each other slowly. Leaving secret kisses under seams and zippers, gentle touches spread over thighs and breasts and stomachs and curves. You kiss her cheek once more, as her hand reaches for the door and the scent of your own body lingers, bright, sweet, and spent. She smiles broadly, looking back over her shoulder as you both exit, only to find the young clerk standing less than ten feet from the door.

"How did everything work out? I was just about to check in on you ladies."

"Great," Évelyne replies. "We're actually both going to get into some new pants. I love these."

"Me too," replies the doe eyed clerk. "I actually have a few pairs myself."

You wonder how long she was standing outside that door, and if she's blushing because she recognized one of you, or because she heard something, or if it's all swirling imagination in your head. "Thank you so much" you manage to squeak out as you pass her and hop a few steps ahead to grab Évelyne's hand as you head to the check out.

You snatch the blue fabric from her grasp and pay for both pairs without her making much of a protest. She just leans into your back at the counter, hard, resting her chin on your shoulder, rather digging her chin into your shoulder, as you complete the transaction. You can feel your heart humming under the surface, as is hers. With her chest pressed to your shoulder blades you can feel their erratic rhythm relax into a common thrum. The sound of their synchronicity brings tears to your eyes behind your shades. You thank god the gent behind the counter cannot see your whole face as you politely thank him for the purchase, let Évelyne thread her fingers with yours and make your way back into the day.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter 15**_

 _ **"You wrap your fingers into the belt loops on her jeans and pull her ever so slightly towards you."**_

* * *

Double Update Day. Yahoo! So glad work got cancelled for today.

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

"That was a pretty Delphine move, you pulled back there," you offer, swinging your hands between you, strolling aimlessly down the open sidewalk.

"You think?" she replies, squinting into the sun, forgetting that her sunglasses are in her bag where you left them. She stops to counter you. "I kind of always thought Delphine was a bit of a push over, sexually, at least. Like she didn't know what she was missing, so she totally let's Cosima drive the car, you know?"

"Okay, that makes sense, I guess. At first, at least. But that argument also totally puts holes in your 'research' claim." There's a beat of heavy silence. "Don't cha think?"

You can feel your Cheshire cat grin spread across your face as Évelyne's blanks to near white and she swallows. Hard. Uh oh.

Similar to when you were in the restaurant Friday night, it's like you're watching her sink away from the present, and not quite sure how to get her back.

"Évelyne, where'd you go?" She looks at the brick pattern beneath your feet and starts to step back a little. "Hey, stay with my eyes," you counter grabbing her fingertips and bringing them to your lips to gently kiss. The scent of your own body on her hand makes you smile, makes you blush, makes you hungry for more, for understanding, for patience, for answers where you're not sure of the questions.

"I'm just working the puzzle, E. You know me. I need to know how things work. I'm trying to figure out how this works." You gesture to the growing space between you and the loud rattle of your heart banging about your chest and what you suspect is hers doing the same.

"I don't understand," she says, dropping your hands and digging into her bag for her sunglasses, and then for a cigarette. She hadn't smoked all weekend. You'd been impressed. But now she postures behind rolled eyes and shaky hands fumbling with a lighter for a cigarette that is probably stale. She strolls over to an ashtray next to a bench and invites you to sit while she takes long drags between short sentences and calmly pulls curls of smoke through her nose. It might be the sexiest you've ever seen.

"What do you mean, you don't understand? I'm talking about what's going on Évelyne. I'm talking about what just happened in that dressing room, and in the shower, and in your cabin, in my body, your mouth. You don't understand? What is to not understand? I mean are you not, here, with me? Right now? Wearing ME all over your skin?"

Her lips purse the way she does when she speaks French. All of the muscles tighten around her mouth and it's like the lines of her lush and ample smile disappear. You can see her chin quiver and suspect she's about to loose it, so you approach her slowly. You take the cigarette out of her hand and extinguish it safely. You wrap your fingers into the belt loops on her jeans and pull her ever so slightly towards you. She looks up to stop you from seeing the tears in her eyes, but you're no fool. You don't need to see them to know what's happening. Her laugh lines give her up. Her lack of focus and shallow breath give her up. Her limp arms hang flaccid at her sides.

"E, why are you crying? Please, talk to me? Can we talk right here, where we can't just stop, drop, and get naked, let's just talk and sort some things out?"

She nods her head a little and advances to the bench. You follow, keeping her hands tightly wrapped in your own. As you sit, you gently move her sunglasses to the top of her head and wipe under her eyes with your thumbs. But as soon as you touch her cheeks and real eye contact is reestablished, she crumbles into your arms and lets go of a genuinely guttural sob.

"Oh my god, Évelyne. What?" You rub her back with an open palm and run your fingers through her hair. She's full on into a big ol' ugly cry that is so unexpected, to even her, that she starts laughing through it. Choking on tears, her nose a faucet, her hands flailing between her face and your lap, where she finally settles prone onto your knees curled up like a cat.

"Shhhhh. It's okay. I've got you. I'm right here." You use the kindest and most calming voice you can. Very Cosima. And you try so hard not to laugh, but she's laughing and it's kind of not fair, so you let out a little giggle and she turns her face up to you and you both bust out cracking up through the tears. You wipe her face with your sleeve and she rolls over to her back, keeping her head on your legs, so she can still see your face.

"I'm sorry," she says after you spend some time running your fingers through her curls, smoothing her brows with your fingertips, and connecting the beautiful collection of speckles on her face with your eyes. Her face visibly relaxes and you can feel her body sink into your thighs as she slowly calms.

"I don't know what you're apologizing for, but I accept it" you offer, relieved to see her breath steady and her hand return to yours.

"I just feel so much" she says, reaching to touch your cheek. "Sometimes I don't know where to put it, and it overwhelms me and either we fuck or I cry, or we fuck and I cry. I cry a lot actually."

"Yea, I noticed" you reply, tracing the rim of her lip with your fingertip.

"But with you it is more so, like, crazy. Like I cry every time you touch me practically. And I don't mind, the crying. Really I don't. I feel things. It's part of my work. It's a gift. I'm not ashamed of it. I've never been ashamed of crying, or feeling, or breathing, or loving. But, this is bigger than me. I have never felt more alive, or more terrified, in my life."

You both exhale hard. There it is.

"I feel that," you confess, smiling as gently as you can, hoping she can recognize that at least you're in agreement about that.

"But when you try to quantify it," she continues, tightening her grip of your hand in her own, "it's like I can't bear it. I can't bear the thought of distancing myself from you, but I can't face this either Tat. We can't go back like this."

"I know."

Now you're the one looking away, trying not to let your eyes betray you, and wishing you had a cigarette. You can't go back to Toronto, back to set, back to your individual families, and your shared work family, without making some kind of decision. So with as much self control as you can muster you continue, "If I ask you a difficult question, will you promise to try to answer me honestly?"

She nods an affirmative reply, "Of course", as she turns to her side and presses her back to the rear of the bench and her shoulder to your hip. Your arm drapes over the curve of her leg and onto her thigh where you trace geometric shapes with your fingers. You can feel her still jagged breath on your knee.

"What did you think would happen? I mean, you said that you hoped that we might…"

"End up naked?" she interrupts with a chuckle. You can feel her smile on your thigh. You both laugh. It's easier to make light of it, than not.

"I didn't think, obviously" she continues, facing in front of you both, her cheek still pressed to your knee. You watch her hands swirl in front of her, as if she needs to see them to claw the words from the air and finally speak.

"I didn't think beyond the impulse, the desire to connect. I didn't think it would be more than playful, or funny, or fun." She wraps her arms around the tops of your legs and squeezes. She plants a kiss to each of your kneecaps. Pushes herself up to sitting up. Takes your hands into her own and struggles to lock into your eyes.

"I didn't think the… connection, could, or would run this deep, could lay me out…" she turns to face forward again, letting go of your fingertips, swallowing her pride as she presses on, your hand calmly placed firm on her back.

"… but it does. It lays me out and puts me in the position where I feel like a home wrecker. Because even if you say that the boundaries of your relationship are porous, I don't think anyone's relationship is flexible enough for this. Tatiana, I didn't mean for this to happen, but I know you feel it. It's not a lie, but I think we both know that it's not possible."

"I know." The echo of Delphine's dialogue in Évelyne's mouth, smacks you both back into the present, hard. "You're right" you state, as plainly as possible. Part of you wishes she wasn't right, and that surprises you, but the gravitas of your confessions, however vague, seemingly occupies all of the air in sky.

You wrap your arms around her from behind and pull her back into your body. You lay your head on her shoulder and kiss the sweet stretch of skin between her collar and her ear.

"Come here, Évelyne, turn around, come on. I'm not going to bite you." She turns to you, and her heart-broken, pouty-lipped, pink-cheeked, puffy-eyed, weepy face, breaks you like a snapping twig beneath your feet. You could try to stifle the noises your throat makes when you cry, or try to wipe the tears away as they fall, but instead you just let yourself laugh through wracking sobs, hold her as tightly as you can and she holds you as tightly as she can. And you both let yourself feel what it feels like to love so incredibly hard and be loved so incredibly hard by the most unexpected and incredible person at the most absolutely most wrong time.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16**_

 _ **"** **You can't imagine spending the rest of this night in this much silence, this much discomfort. Not when just a few hours ago she wracked your body with indescribable joy.** **"**_

* * *

Your reviews are hilarious! Thank you so much! Here we are at the home stretch.

I went back and re-read and found so many little typos and fixed a lot. I'm SO SORRY. Should you find more, feel free to let me know, as I'm dyslexic and don't always see things right away.

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

The sun starts to set behind the bench and you watch the sky before you morph - from orange and gold, like her hair, through peaches and pinks, like her body, to purples and reds, like her wanting, her mouth. Eventually the pallet simmers to a somber-hued blues like you feel, gutted and foolish, paralyzed by your own choices frozen in the present tense. You stopped talking, probably an hour ago and it is far too cold for sandals now, but neither of you want to admit that it is time to move. Time to maybe eat? Or drink? A lot. Or go back to the cabin? Or to avoid it.

Évelyne shutters in your arms. Her breathing is still shallow and uneven around her dried tears. You hate how much this hurts her. You hate how much this hurts. You didn't see this coming, you lie to yourself over and over again. She seduced you. She brought you out here. She instigated. But you know you cannot place blame. You came here willingly. You welcomed every play she made. You enjoyed it, even. But you still can't admit how much you've actually wanted this, wanted her, all along. Almost from the time you first met during her casting. From the first time you saw her beautiful face on a screen. There was always just something about your connection, something that made you do a double take.

Yet you continue to try and assess your spinning mind and try to free your conscience of guilt. Was it childish regression? Self-destructive impulse? Fear of commitment sabotage? Mid-month hormones? But no matter the reason, there simply is no justification.

This is an affair. Full blown, messy as hell, hearts going to break, affair. This is not, 'I got drunk with a colleague and we made out at a party'. This is not 'my friend has a crush on me and I appreciated the attention'. This is not a 'curiosity'. This is not 'method acting'. This is falling face first into the unexpected and finding surprise after surprise at every touch, every kiss, every mind-blowing collision of your bodies in space and time. This is real. This makes your heart surge in your chest and your hands shake, your lips quiver and your eyes well.

How could you not notice the snowball crashing down the mountain? How could you not know it was picking up speed? How could you be so perfectly workahaulic-oblivious to how attached to her you'd grown, how comfortable, how complacent, how conspiratorial? How could you let yourself stray this far from home, this far from reality, this far from yourself?

Évelyne feels your self-loathing tense around her body and moves to scan the area around your little island of bench, and eventually you. When she turns to meet your sad eyes, you smile the most apologetic smile you can, take her face in your hands and gently press your lips to hers, before you speak.

"We should head back to the cabin, yeh?"

"Mmm mmm" she replies, closing her eyes and biting your kiss back into her mouth from her own lips.

As you stand to go, she slides her arm around your waist and holds onto your hip with her palm. She slows her stride to match yours, holding you close, keeping your warm, not wanting to let another second of the precious time you've left, to seep into the darkening sky.

"Are you hungry?" she says after a few blocks of nothing but synchronized steps and nervous breaths.

"Not really," you answer, looking up to meet her eyes.

"Yea, me either," she continues, not breaking her focus from the path in front of her, not relinquishing the grip of her hand on your hip.

"I could use a drink though," you offer; hoping to entice her back into your world, back into your eyes, if only for the next few hours. You can't imagine spending the rest of this night in this much silence, this much discomfort. Not when just a few hours ago she wracked your body with indescribable joy.

"Not a terrible idea," she says, interrupting the sense memory burning your lower body and stalling your steps. "But we should eat a little something too" she finishes, her voice controlled, if a little apologetic, as if she's on automatic pilot to take care of the essentials – water, food, rest.

You hop in an extra step to keep up. "Sure, I'm up for anything. Really. This is your Tat-nap, remember?"

This breaks her stoicism into a broad smile, you both remembering the invitation she presented at the season wrap. She left a scavenger hunt of your favorite things all over the studio and you ran from site to site, collecting candy, a comic, a few books, new music, new socks, and a bright pink EOS lip balm (well that's her favorite, but you share). Then the final clue was Évelyne, playing dead on the couch in your dressing room pretending to sleep. When you sat on her, forcefully, she leapt to her feet giggling and presented you with a hand scribbled invite to "A Weekend Tat-Nap, No Fees or Restrictions Apply". You of course, accepted on the spot.

"Okay," Évelyne smiles, turning her honey colored eyes back to you. "I'm hoping a little food might make me feel a little better, actually. You too."

As she opens the door to the cabin, you wait patiently and impulsively reach out to wrap your arms around her waist. But you stop. Take a step back, and as she opens the door and looks back, she has no way of knowing you just censored yourself so completely and denied your desire to make contact. Still you enter the space at her invitation, cross through to your bag in the living room. You dig through your remaining clothes; untouched pajamas, dirty jeans from the train ride out, your running clothes - still damp in a plastic bag from when you rinsed them - and one more pair of yoga pants. Ugh.

"E, do you have a shirt, or a tank, that's not lycra that I can borrow? I'm down to sport tanks and yoga shorts."

Your face is still in the bag beneath you when her voice surfaces right next to your ear, just as her fingers slide down your arms. "You can take anything you want, just help yourself to what's in the other room."

Her mouth makes contact with your ear first, and then your neck, as she turns you to face her. Her kiss finds your mouth, gaping, and pulls you to standing with gentle precision. Her touch is firm, her request specific, yet her intentions humble, respectful and kind. You almost feel your feet levitate off of the floor as you melt into her arms. You're still hers, for at least the next twelve hours. Your lower back tingles, your eyes collapse, and the taste of tobacco on her tongue is far more intoxicating than not.

"Evie -" you interrupt, between the kisses she plants all over any exposed flesh.

"Mmm mmm?" she answers between breaths.

"I…" your knees offer the tell tale wobble and the air in the room thickens beyond your ability to finish your thought.

"What?" she urges, pressing into your shoulder blades with her strong fingers while she teases at your skin with her teeth.

"…you…", need to stop, you think. You need her to stop teasing, stop, stalling, and get to it, right now.

"Yes?" she smiles, enjoying the fragility in your breath, the glaze in your eyes and the delicate flush on your cheeks. Her eyes darken almost instantly and you can see where this is going as quickly as you anticipate one of you passing out.

"Wait, Évelyne, wait. I promise. When we come back." You kiss her; to still her, and shake off just how quickly she was able to get you worked up. "You said it yourself, we have to eat, or we're both going to be a disaster."

She rolls her eyes in unenthusiastic agreement, chuckles under her breath and disappears into the other room with a pout. You can hear her rummaging through her stuff while you change back into your jeans. She tosses a printed blouse through the door and it lands on the Tat-sized sofa. You slip it over your head to meet her in the doorframe as she crosses to the armchair to plop down and zip up her boots, under the loose fitting swing of her new blue pants.

"Thanks for the top. I love it. Smells like you" you say, cradling her head from behind and planting a kiss on her hairline. "And I love the pants. I'm glad you finally tried them on." When she finally smiles, you come around to the front of the chair, squat down, and place your hands on her legs to keep her seated.

"Hey, look at me."

She does.

"I hate that this hurts. I do. But it does. It hurts me too and I know that we're both anxious and upset and embarrassed and frightened about what's coming. But this happened. We happened. Okay? And if you think I'm not going to spend the every second of our last night here making love to you, than you don't know me as well as you think you do at all."

Évelyne's dimples betray her attempt to keep her cool as she scoops you to a spin in her arms. You wrap your legs around her waist and you hug her so tightly until you both cannot help but laugh. When you come to a stop you slide down the front of her body, leaving a trail of kisses down the side of her face, to her lips, to her chin, her shoulders, then you duck your head slightly to the deep v neck of the silk blouse resting over her cleavage where you place a single, damp, kiss.

"Let's go. Allons-y" you say, grabbing her hand and pulling for the door. "Now, I'm starving."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17**_

 _ **"It could be a date, that is if you want it to be."**_

* * *

I think there are just a few more chapters to go. So close! But there's some important ground to cover.

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

"So, is this a date?" Évelyne says, reaching over to your face and wiping a tiny piece of something from the corner of your mouth.

"What was that?" you ask, a little startled that she publicly invaded your personal space in such an intimate way.

"I don't know, something green?" she answers, laughing a little, then returns her hand to your cheek, just to be sweet.

"It could be a date, that is if you want it to be," you answer, nudging her foot with your foot, since she's sitting right next to you at the bar.

"Then it is, because I'd like that," she says, shuffling the vegetables around on her plate with puppy dog eyes and a sleepy grin.

Your mind is buzzing thinking that your first date, is your last date, technically. Unless you count all the lunch dates and drink dates, hot yoga dates and meditation retreat dates, and all the other fun things you've done together, before the Tat-napping that is, as accidental dates. Times where you tried each other on, and tried to determine if you wanted to take the relationship further? Not intentionally, anyway. So does that mean it's been almost a year that you've actually been going on dates - without the kissing - and didn't even realize it? That all the time Tom was working abroad, you've been casually dating Évelyne? Ugh. You're so grateful she can't really climb inside your mind and know what you're thinking.

Évelyne's gold-rimmed pupils catch your own over your drinks. Her eyes are softer in the lighting of the small pub and you hope yours are too. Some people would argue that you both have hazel eyes. But here hers are definitely gold with green centers and yours are probably so dark they're nearly brown. They always get darker when you cry. Not to mention that after an afternoon of kissing and fussing and crying and kissing, you're pretty sure your eyes are puffy and red and you are perhaps less than your most adorable self. But you'd never know it, the way Évelyne looks at you and immediately brightens, or the way her smile unravels like falling ribbon.

Feeling brave, you inquire, "Évelyne, have you ever had a girlfriend before? Like a girlfriend, girlfriend. Like someone who met your mother, that you thought you could spend your life with, girlfriend?"

"Not really," she replies tracing the rim of her glass with her index finger. "I mean I was involved with someone for a long time, but I don't think either of us ever wanted that. I mean a publicly lesbian relationship? It was too dangerous for us professionally, we were too young, you know, so it was more casual than anything."

"Did you love her?"

"Of course," she smiles at the memory and you want to ask who she is, but you can't. Instead your subconscious kicks up this fine gem of an intrusion, "Did you love her like you love François?"

Évelyne doesn't flinch in the slightest. Her self-awareness and ability to talk about such things with ease is inspiring, sexy even. "It's different. I mean, like I said before I can't qualify the kind or the amount of affection I have for someone, or why. I just do. And each one, man, or woman, is totally different, you know?"

"I can see that." You can't help but wonder how you will appear in her footnotes, if some time from now a new lover will ask her about her past and she'll think of The Magdelan Islands and your hand scratching circles on the nape of her neck, in a pub, the night before you parted ways for a long while.

"Tat, what are you puzzling over there?"

"I was just wondering what it could be like. I mean what it would be like if we… if we actually…"

"Ah," she says, finishing her drink and simultaneously calling the bartender back over. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know. We don't have to talk about this, now. I don't want to get all upset again."

The bartender is generous, as he overfills the glasses, clears your half-eaten plates, nods politely and moves on. Évelyne places her hand over yours and squeezes.

"It's okay, my little worrier. We don't have to talk about that, but I do have an idea."

"I'm listening," you reply, leaning your head into her shoulder.

"What if we choose to leave this here. On the island. So that we don't have to suffer around each other when we go back to work, wondering if and when we might connect again, because that would just be horrible, but we also don't really have to let go because we can trust that we will."

"Okay… I'm invested. Keep going."

"At least once a year, we come here. Just you and me." Her eyes are glistening with the happy glow and you can feel your smile bust through your stiff upper lip.

"I would love that," you say, gently kissing her cheek and pulling her neck closer to you with your still swirling and scratching hand.

"But if things get hard," she continues meeting your gaze, "we have to talk about it. If things change we talk about it. We can't keep secrets, from each other, or from…"

"Tom." You finish the statement and consider how he will hear what you have to say. "Or François," you add, realizing you've been incredibly selfish, dropping your hands awkwardly into your own lap.

Still you hope that there is room enough in their hearts for compassion and an open mind. But in this moment, you can't face that reality when a new reality is curving her hands around her own forehead and pressing into her temples with force.

"François, isn't part of the equation at the moment," she says to her glass, then turning back to you, "but I'll let you know if that changes. I promise." She slips a small stack of bills under an empty glass to eventually cover the tab.

"Okay. Are you okay? Do you have a headache?"

"A little, but I'll be okay. I just need to follow this with some water." She does.

There's a long beat.

Then Évelyne squeezes your thigh under the bar as she whispers into your ear, "Let's head out, okay?"

You nod in agreement as you slide off your seat and take her hands. Before she can bolt for the door, you tip toe up to her eye level and take her face in your palms. You kiss her forehead, then each of her closed eyes, her cheeks and her lips. Her smile spreads like a blush, all dimples and dewy eyes, her head rolls from side to side in embarrassment as she wraps her arm around your shoulder and swings you back into the chilly night.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18**_

 _ **"This is so much better than yoga, you think to yourself, smiling into her open mouth. So so much better."**_

* * *

One more! Thank you for your kind words Reviewers.

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self-edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

Perhaps finishing a bottle of wine and only eating a handful or two of lettuce was not the smartest choice. You didn't think you were drunk until you stepped outside and the chill in the air seemed almost violent in your fragile state. Your head is a little swimmy, but your trusty sidekick seems fine. Her long-strided saunter, slowed down to accommodate your left-drifting steps, her soft thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand as you walk.

The pub is just a few blocks from the cabin and as soon as you can see the porch light near the front door from afar, Évelyne steps in front of you and scoots you onto her back, grabbing your thighs from underneath to give you a piggy back ride the rest of the way home. You ease her hair over her shoulder to bare her ear and promptly stick your tongue in it. She squeals, you hang on, and her casual walk back quickly turns into a bumpy gallop. It doesn't take long for you both to crash into the door with a thud and cacophony of laughs. You slide off of her back and into her arms. Your lips meeting right there in the moonlight, your left heel unexpectedly pops up.

"Je t'aime à la folie" she whispers to your lips.

"Je t'aime… too" you reply, laughing at yourself, and the second glass of wine, and the shortness of breath that you feel, not sure if it was the running, the kiss, the sexy French, or some combination there of, but its glorious, about as glorious as Évelyne's mouth working its way down your neck as her hands push under your shirt, well her shirt, but the shirt on your body which very much wants to be inside, because she's already unhooked your bra…

Without stopping her kisses, all tongue and teeth, you manage to grab the key from her front pocket, open the door and drag her by the elastic on the top of her amazing blue pants, back into the privacy of the little cabin by the sea.

Once safely inside, she peels the shirt over your head gently, her fingertips trailing sparks up your back and sides. You immediately shake your bra to the floor, kick off your shoes and drop her trousers to a pool around her feet. While she's leaning forward to unzip her boots at each ankle, you pull her blouse forward, kissing the tiny bumps of her spine as you slowly roll yourself back to standing. You're a little light headed actually. Is it the heat of her skin or the wine? With a cocked eyebrow and a lazy smile, she pulls you forward by the belt loop and unzips your jeans and runs her palms from your back to your rear, taking the pants, and your knickers, down with them. You return the favor dismissing the small triangles of blue sink, which barely covered her bottom to the pile. You step out of your bottoms facing her newly naked body, which pulls you like a magnet. Your hands meet before your bellies, before your bare breasts (she left the house braless? Really?), before your mouths bring you to a sweet and slow embrace, a languid kiss and, of course, dancing, pressed together quietly swaying in the middle of the living room.

"I love this so much" you say to the landscape of freckles just below her left collarbone. "I'm in no rush to go, but I can't wait to come back."

"Me too, ma chérie, me too." Her breath and her words swirl in your hair like a crown and her arms tighten around your back before she lifts your chin with one finger and locks into your eyes.

When her lips make contact with yours you feel thrown across the room without moving. The electricity in the contact is fervent without being pushy or pained. She's so passionate without sacrificing tenderness. Her hands are so strong on your body yet also still so incredibly sweet; your skin effervesces at her touch. You're fairly confident that you're shaking and nothing you can do will stop your limbs from tingling, your mouth from wanting, your heart from racing inside your chest.

As if holding you together, she wraps her arms around your ribcage and your stomach, palms your arms and embraces your shoulders. You open your eyes to see her fielding and observing your body like it was a wonder. With wide eyes and open mouth she memorizes every plane and curve like a cartographer. Her eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room, her lips dark red, lush and way too far from your own.

Using your mouth as bait you kiss her back to the sofa where you lay her out beneath you without words. There, you cup her chin with your warm palms, then ghost your fingers down to her wrists, then to each of her hips, her thighs, her knees, her ankles, her feet. You take your time massaging all off the places she's fighting back, the tension she's hiding between sinew and muscle, between right now and tomorrow. When you lift her hand to your mouth her stomach visibly quivers. You take one finger onto your tongue, then two, then three. You kiss her hand with an open mouth, your tongue memorizing the texture of her palm.

When you slowly descend the weight of your body into her arms you remember your first kiss, the first that was not in the script, the one she never thought you'd ask for, the one you never thought you needed. You remember the way she folded her skin onto yours so delicately. First her knee between your knees, then her thighs upon your thighs, then her pelvis making contact with yours, your shy bellies, your warm breasts, your breath intertwined into a firecracker kiss. A kiss that swept arms around spiny backs, nails to soft skin, hair in halos all around.

You melt that memory into her smooth bare body beneath you, the flawless surface of her skin, the pink blushing of her whole body glowing, with every molecule in your person offering reverence, gratitude and grace.

Évelyne breaks the kiss and holds you close to her chest. The rise and fall of her breathing, elevates your whole body and easily balances your decent as she exhales. The wonder of your breath cycling in unison sends shivers down your spine, or is that her finger nails tracing small circles around the dimples on your lower back, that makes your whole body seem to relax into her skin. So much so that you raise your knees to your sides, and pull them up over her hips as if you were in child's pose over her body, resting your open sex directly on hers below.

She cradles your folded limbs in the loop of her arms, clasping her hands below you. For a few peaceful minutes you discover a new kind of kiss, one that fills you with calm and giddiness. This is so much better than yoga, you think to yourself, smiling into her open mouth. So so much better.

"You're like a little turtle," she says quietly, tickling your bum with her fingers below. She slowly starts to pull you forward, sliding your sex along her stomach, and you inevitably use your own arms to sit up right on the midsection of her body.

"Come here," she says, eyes darkling, mischievous. She takes your hands and pulls you forward over her shoulders, politely asking you to reposition yourself over her mouth. Your heartbeat drops to your pelvis and accelerates immediately as the anticipation of making contact and fear of hurting her conflicts in your chest. She steadies your right hand in her own for balance and wraps her other arm all the way around your hips. Like a baby bird waiting to be fed, her mouth leans into your hesitation, but her arm pulls you down gently to her chest. You both exhale deeply, as her tongue slides easily into your body, her nose, chin, teeth, providing ample landscapes for you to surf.

Your hips instinctively rock and her hands guide your body from falling too far forward or back. She teases you from below, using breath and tongue and teeth, and the resulting looseness of your spine and your hips is just incredible. Her touch is feather light and lighting specific at the same time. The knots tied so severely in your body, untie easily on her tongue.

She reveals yet another layer of release previously locked inside of you. You want her to find them all, unlock all of your codes, dismantle your armor, tear down your walls. The orgasm rises slowly like a volcano, vertically climbing from the quick work of her mouth through the base of your spine to the crown of curls on your head. You neck snaps back and her hand snaps to your breasts, gently pulling your nipples to earn back your focus, pulling your eyes back into hers so she can gently ease you down to settle into the safety of a more horizontal kiss.

But before you can give in to her demanding brows you consider your next play, measure the geometry and logistics in your mind, and as you slide your hips toward her legs. You surprise her and step aside to turn around, pulling her knees up into the bent position so you can quickly pull your hair up into a knot on the top of your head and make your way down to her shaky thighs from above.

Her laughter marks the realization of what comes next and you smile. You wrap your arms up under her muscular legs and raise her pelvis just enough to kiss. She wraps her arms around your lower back and pulls your legs down to either side of her ears. Again, you fear the weight of your body hurting her below, but before you can protest you feel her teeth spin you like a pearl and your breath is snatched from your lungs. The slow moving exploration of her thighs and hip sockets you had planned is immediately adjusted when your chin snaps back past the most vulnerable part of her body and her legs jerk in response. You sooth them with your arms and embrace her fully with your kiss. It is the most distracting and challenging thing you've ever done actually. To kiss and be kissed at the same time is far more difficult than playing four people in one scene, just sayin'.

You start to laugh at your own inner monologue and this makes Évelyne giggle humming vibrations into her kiss. The sensation is overwhelming and you hear yourself gasp and loose your balance. You cannot help but drop a foot to the floor beside the sofa and break free of the awkward pretzel position. You fall to your knees beside her, laying your torso out on her stomach, facing her radiant and unyielding smile.

She pushes herself up on her elbows and wiggles herself up to sitting in front of you with a kiss. Sloppy, acidic, sweet. You climb up from the floor and into her lap, draping your knees on either side of her hips, wrapping your arms around her neck pulling her face to your chest, sinking your bottom between her thighs.

Neither of you has thought about the time since you came home. Neither of you has planned exactly how you're going to get back to the mainland, to the airport, or the trains. Neither of you can see past the unimaginable fear of parting that hovers over the cabin and pulls your together in near desperate embrace.

For a moment your eyes meet between jagged inhalations and full-bodied kisses. Here pupils are huge, her eyes greener than you've ever seen them and the want that registers in her face almost brings you to tears. Instead you cradle her cheek in your hand, kiss each of her eyes, and let them follow your touch as it descends between your bodies. You rest your hand on the small space on the sofa between you and kiss her deeply. It is a promise to return. An offering. A prayer. She blinks a few times, in an awkward rhythm and fearing that she just might burst into tears you pepper her cheeks and her lips and her brow with tiny little kisses to distract her from worry. It works and she smiles so wide and wraps her arms around your shoulders and steadies her breath in your grounded and present gaze.

"Stay with my eyes," you say, holding her focus, precious like a jewel, so that when you enter her this time, she falls into you softly, and the line connecting your hand to your wrist, to your pelvis behind it, makes easy work of slow moving circles deepening your touch as she expands in your arms. It doesn't take very long for your whole hand to disappear and for a steady rock of figure eights to roll through your hips and rattle her breathing.

She fights the crescendo as long as she can, gritting her teeth, clawing your shoulders, her thighs tense and release like radio waves under your legs. You can feel her body shutter from the inside out pressing your fingers to retreat. As you gently start to withdraw, Évelyne's eyes widen, she swallows forcefully and struggles to balance. You push her back a little bit so that her back meets the couch and doing so instantly settles the concern on her face. Her hand meets your wrist and stops you from pulling back.

Her eyes spark and a sly grin prances across her mouth and she stealthily slides a newly freed hand into your open and waiting body with ease. You too fall into an organic rhythm that is slow and deliberate. She slides into you and out, slowly taking up more space, adding depth, being pulled into your very center by a force outside her control. Her body relaxes around your fist, as she focuses on her own, and both sets of your hips roll and rock with mounting pressure and friction.

The symmetry of your bodies moving together is just amazing to you. Almost as if you're watching from above you can see the balance and the beauty of the way your pieces fit, the way you move together like a finely choreographed dance. The way the geometry of your frames, puzzle to make this possible. You want to stay suspended in this fullness, this richness, this feeling of suspension. You want to bottle this infinite trust that peels you open for each other and spills over, so luminous, so wet, so loud, so sweet, so intense, so simple, so true. So sacred. You want…

"I want…" the words escape your lips, as your head falls to her shoulder and your arms tighten around her body.

"Shhhh," she says, "I've got you. Just let it go. I'm right here."

"I.. I…"

You cannot finish your thought because your body snaps back from Évelyne's touch and your solar plexus starts to seize. She quickly separates your bodies enough to catch your back in her arms and safely lay you both down on the floor before anyone could fall. You can't feel your fingertips, or your toes; repeated spasms wrack through your entire body. She immediately wraps herself around you, cradling your sex with her open hand, kissing your cheeks sweetly, until your breathing settles, her own shaking subsides and you collapse into a knot of hot, messy, laughter in a pile on the floor.

After several minutes of panting you finally say, "What the hell was that?"

Évelyne's pink cheeks pop up as she leans back on her elbow. "That, was probably the most intense orgasm, I've ever seen."

"Seriously. Damn. Are you trying to kill me?"

"Nah, I would never want you dead." She places a simple kiss to your clammy brow. "Then we couldn't do it again?"

"But sex with you isn't about the orgasms, that's why it it's amazing. I mean it never feels like we're working for it you know, like I'm just playing with your body and you're playing with mine and like things happen, but like THAT happened and I seriously think I passed out for a second there."

"You did, " she says, one eyebrow elevated with a laugh.

"And like, at the same time? Like how is that even possible? I mean you touch me and my body is just like, hey, come on in! I mean, I used to be a slow burn, or needed lube, or whatever, but not with you. Jesus, you're like my own personal aphrodisiac."

"Um, thank you?" she says, laying down resting her head on her own open palms behind her.

"I'm sorry. I should stop talking."

"Yes, you should." She reaches out to you, inviting you to her side of the open floor.

You shoot her a sharply pointed glare.

"I'm kidding, get over here and hold me, damn it. I don't want to stop touching you. Even if I need a little break. And some water." Her hands beckon you with the gentle whine in her voice.

"I'll go grab the water. Be right back. One 'hold me' with a side of cuddle, coming right up." You crack yourself up.

You can feel her gaze on your body as you slowly get yourself to standing and move towards the kitchen. You grab glasses and some water and try desperately to ignore the clock on the wall. You wish you didn't look. You wish it didn't register. But it is after four which means morning is closer than not. You take a moment to steal yourself to this reality and trust that your acting chops have never been more essential. The last thing you want is for her to see you fall apart.

When you return to the living room Évelyne is gone. You stop in your tracks in the sea of dismissed clothing and she must hear your foot falls stop.

"I'm back here", she calls coming out of the bathroom. "I didn't mean to frighten you, sorry." You hand her a glass of water, which she promptly chugs, before spinning you around by the shoulder and pushing your bum towards the still open door. "Go pee," she says playfully, "The last thing you want to remember me by is a UTI."

You can hear your eyes roll in your head but she's right, and you do. After you take pause to wash your hands, do an assessment of the bruising on your neck and shoulders, and maybe on a few ribs. Daymn, indeed. Wow. Your whole body aches, and it's wonderful.

When your head falls to the pillow beside Évelyne you're grateful that you re-made the bed and the sheets are clean, leaving the hot mess of sex in the other room. You wrap your little body around hers and she scoots you right on top of her with her arms.

"It's really late" she quietly says to the dark.

"I know. I didn't want to tell you. I saw the clock in the kitchen."

"We should try to get some sleep."

"I know."

There's a long silence, punctuated only by her nails spinning circles on your back, your fingers whispering prayers on her shoulders.

"Are you okay, my little turtle?"

"Mmm mmm. You?"

Your eyes adjust to the dark, slowly, but finally you can see hers glistening back at you.

"I'm very grateful."

"For?"

"You."

She let's her lids close gently. Her hands still, before you say ,"I love you, you know."

"I know. I love you, too." Her breath on your chin is soft when she speaks.

"You'll come back, here with me?" you ask, fearing her offer, like this weekend, was just a dream.

"This place is Sacred to me, T."

"I think you are Sacred to me, Évelyne."

"Wow."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter 19**_

 _ **"If you were a braver woman you would dig your phone out from the bottom of your bag and capture the image to stare at indefinitely. But you're not."**_

* * *

Wow. Thank you so much for taking on this little experimental writing exercise with me. I wanted to see if I could write a love story that was romantic, realistic, and honest, without being too vulgar, explicit or trashy in the word choice. I mean, sometimes that's what you need. But for this story, it wasn't. So often great fanfic is just weird about vocabulary and it pulls me out of the world of the story. I have no idea why it was easier to do so with Masbro than with Cophine, but as a writer it was a great challenge that I enjoyed. So I'm really glad there were few people out there who read and enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don't know if I'll continue writing Masbro or jump back into cannon. What do you guys think? Anyway - thank you. From my humble romance writer heart.

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self-edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

Your eyes open to the quite clammy reality that sleeping on top of another person, though romantic and comforting, will inevitably end with your sticky face pressed, and probably drooling, into her sticky cleavage, and not at all in a hot or sexy way. As gently as possible you lift yourself off of sleeping beauty without causing so much as a stir. You tuck the sheet back up around her cute little face (she smiles in her sleep, seriously) and kiss a few of her beauty marks before you can tear away.

The chilled air outside of the bed immediately wakes your bladder, but as you slink back to the bathroom, the far clock in the other room tells you that it is almost six thirty. The light out side the window agrees. A tiny soft pink glow is starting to radiate from the shoreline alerting you of the sun's inevitable rise.

You quickly brush your teeth and pile your positively hideously unruly curls into a knot on the top of your head and jump into your last pair of clean yoga pants. You steal one of Évelyne's long sleeve t-shirts from her open bag and lay out similar lounge wear for her on the foot of the bed.

You squat down next to her sleeping form, and find the rise and fall of her shallow breath fascinating. You could hold yourself next to the bed, forever, just trying to memorize the lines of her eyes, the tiny sounds of her slumber, the scent of her skin. But the light outside is building faster than your heart is racing so you smooth her hair up off her face and trace your finger tip over her brows, her nose and her chin, barely making contact with her skin, teasing her every so slightly to wake.

When her golden eyes open to see your amber stare, her dimples bust out an adorable smile and her arms immediately reach out to pull you close. But you accept her arms only to invite her up, "Come, let's get you dressed, I want to go watch the sunrise with you."

Her brow wrinkles, she nods in agreement, but palms her eyes like a child. Clamoring for her glasses (when did she take her contacts out? You have no idea), she pulls herself up to sitting, "oooh, good idea. We don't have much time, it's already light out."

"I know, sorry. I got lost in watching you sleep. Pretty."

She reaches to touch your nose with her outstretched hand and giggles.

"Okay, I'm up" she says, placing her feet safely on the ground, lifting her gorgeous naked form into the light that spills through the window onto her curves. If you were a braver woman you would dig your phone out from the bottom of your bag and capture the image to stare at indefinitely. But you're not, so you hold your breath and gaze at the stunning composition before you. When she turns, you feel busted. She approves, but you're busted nonetheless.

"I'll go make some tea. Hurry up. Get dressed, okay?"

By time the kettle boils, Évelyne has cleaned up and dressed for travel in lounge pants, comfortable layers, ponytail and sneakers. Even when she's a hot mess, she's just fucking precious. She takes a hot mug from your hands "Merci," and you scurry out of the cabin silently, as if fussing would speed up the sky.

Balancing hot mugs of tea in your outer hands, she takes your free fingers in between into her own and near drags you down the sidewalk to a small path toward the water. You both tiptoe quietly through the morning chill, not wanting to wake a neighbor, or a neighbor's dog, or anything that could spoil the beautiful stillness that is morning on this little island.

The water around the dock is almost placid, barely rippling, calm and sleepy like your heart. There are few boats in place off-season, so the empty spaces seem vast. But the air in and around the aging wood, sand and salt, swirls delicately, a calming breath of absolution, wrapping itself around you both as you take a seat on the edge of a dock, dangling your feet to the vacancy below.

"My tea is already cold," she says taking a sip and placing the mug down beside her. "Me too, I think. At least, what I didn't spill on the way out here." She offers you hers and you continue, "No, it's okay. Thank you. I'm good."

"You're glorious" she says, pulling you close to her, letting your body collapse over her knees so she can wrap her mug free arm around your waist.

In the quiet, she sips her chilly tea, and you trace secret wishes into her open palm. Typing with your finger and thumb you write the letters 'F-O-R-G-I-V-E M-E, K-N-O-W M-E, L-O-V-E M-E' into her skin. The sun peeks it's little nose up over the water and she squeezes your anxious hand. "Yes," she says kissing your palm. "All of those things."

The horizon burns from pink to purple and orange as the tiny dot of sun becomes a crescent and the crescent becomes and arch and arch becomes a globe. The twinkling on the water glistens like your eyes, but no one is crying this time, surprisingly enough. You think perhaps, that your heart is too full to cry, as if crying would some how release everything you must now cherish and hold onto with every fiber of your being.

When your eyes meet again, warm smiles face silent fears of parting. Further discussion will only make it harder, so somehow you agree to limit your communication to touch. As you sit up and pull yourself to standing, you offer a hand that she accepts to meet you on her feet. She wraps her long arm around your waist and hooks her thumb just inside the waist of your pants as you walk quietly back to the cabin, empty mugs in tow. As she opens the door, you wrap your arms around her from behind and press your body into her back. Holding on tightly, squeezing enough to make her laugh.

The door opens to the mess from the night before, which you sort, pack and reorganize with out words, each taking pause to savor the sensations of silk sliding off skin, fierce passion, thoughtful kisses and deep satisfying touch. Your tongues firmly pressed behind teeth.

Once bags are zippered and windows and doors are locked and double checked, she takes your hand in her own and leads you through the door one last time. She stops in the threshold though, she takes pause and takes your lips into her own, one at a time, before open mouths give into one more kiss. For now.

You both step away from the door, which locks behind you. Évelyne hides the keys in the owner's secret little box and you watch her bid farewell to her little slice of heaven, her most sacred space. Yet, echoes of the last three days vibrate all over your body and you cannot help but smile, knowing you'll carry all that is sacred with you, as if imprinted on your skin.

You pull the sunglasses out of your hair and put them on. Évelyne starts searching for her own, which you know are in the side pocket of her enormous shoulder bag. Without even saying anything you hand them over and she snickers, then quietly leans down to kiss your left cheek, then your right, holding her lips to your skin perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

You can feel the exhalation from her lips on your ear even before she speaks, "Êtes-vous prêt à aller, ma chérie?"


	20. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

 _ **"You can't help but wonder if the longest relationship either of you have ever sustained, was with each other for a reason, and you're both just too pig headed to acknowledge it."**_

* * *

I was thinking I might put a quick Fast Forward Epilogue on this, but then one wonderful reader so politely asked for more... so... here's an Epilogue, that's really like a long three chapter one shot unto itself. Awesome. As soon as I'm comfortable with the typo catches I'll "complete" this run. Thank you again everyone. Ah!

I do not know any of the people mentioned passively, or otherwise. This is completely a work of fiction. FICTION.

That said, they sure are dreamy and would make quite a lovely power couple, no?

All errors and typos completely mine. This is self-edited work.

I sincerely hope you will continue to read and review.

* * *

You recognize her handwriting immediately. There are extra loops and longer lines, especially on the T's, the M and Y in your name on the outer envelope.

You wait until the house is empty to open it though. The boys are at school, and you're working from home prepping another project – this one steeped in the history of seventeenth century England and Australia – and you finally have a few hours to yourself. But first, you've this unexpected mailer, a run, and your favorite tea.

The return address is in New York. You smile. It's about time she realized that New York is where she belongs, where she's always belonged actually. Toronto, Quebec and Montreal were too small, Los Angeles too inauthentic. But New York. The West Village. Of course. Your heart swells at the thought of her sauntering down cobblestone streets, in heels no doubt, strutting a no nonsense path to the drug store on a Sunday morning. Damn, even your daydreams of her are glamorous.

You peel the plastic zip closure open and pop the cardboard wide to see a smaller envelope within. Baby blue with a capital 'T' scrawled on the outside in familiar loops. Unexpectedly your hands are shaking, you're unable to simply tear the paper to reveal what is inside. There's something that is more than paper in your trembling hands and your beautifully over-active imagination immediately jumps to the logical conclusion that Évelyne, perhaps the person you hold most dear, never wants to see you again. This is your Dear John Letter. You know it.

She has returned the ring you placed on her thumb several windy falls prior, standing on the dock, where you had first said good bye, so many years ago. She has untangled her heart, memory and self from your ambiguity. She's calling it off. End of scene. End of you. End of us.

Or worse, she's lost her mind completely and she's rescinding her promise to "leave it on the island" and mailed you photos and video and the proof she's sending to the press to force your hand. She's going to push you and your publicist to career changing exposure.

She's sick. She's sent you her will. The things she needs you to know, the things she wants you to tell her daughter, and to explain why you're not welcome in hospice and you should keep your distance, just in case.

The number of absurd scenarios that your mind delivers in mere seconds is impressive. If Évelyne was standing here in your kitchen, she would laugh under her breath and quark an eyebrow sharply in distain. But then she would wrap her arms around you from behind and kiss your neck until your knees give out, before she gently lead you to bed.

You can't help but wonder if all this time was worth the wonder, the compromises. Wondering if once – occasionally twice – a year was enough to sustain you. Wondering if the many men in both of your lives ever really understood the arrangement, or the non-disclosure agreements that they were forced by your publicists to sign. It was only an annual vacation really. An annual vacation that no one was allowed to join, nor see. You can't help but wonder if the longest relationship either of you have ever sustained, was with each other for a reason, and you're both just too pig-headed to acknowledge it.

But can you consider it a relationship, really, if the sum total of days spent together is less than a few months, albeit spread out over fifteen years? Really Tatiana your rationalization skills are just amazing.

You slip your nail under the flap of the envelope and peel back the pointed closure. There are two pages and a key that falls into your hand. The air smells faintly like her perfume.

The first page reads in her whimsical cursive-

 _Dearest,_

 _I hope this finds you well and that you're adjusting peacefully to life on your own again. I know I could have called, I probably talked to you yesterday, but I wanted to send you this surprise so you could see it and feel it in your hands. I wish I was there to see your face, but I can imagine it. I promise._

 _I'm so proud of you T. Genuinely. You always do what's right and this next chapter will be divine. I can feel it in my chilly bones._

 _The new flat in NYC is coming together. I hope you'll be in town to see it soon. If not before our trip, perhaps soon after? We're home here for a bit around the holidays too, my mom is coming down to see the tree. Maybe you'll come? She'd love to see you, of course. As would I, obviously._

 _Your boys are so utterly delicious. Thank you for sending pictures and stories. I can't wait to see them and hug them myself. So soon_ _chérie, so soon. Please tell them that I love them so._

 _Los Angeles is too far away. Come to me._

 _Yours,_

 _E_

Your eyes instinctively well. She knows you better than anyone, and can distill your truth to crystalline clarity in so few words. You want so much to accept her optimism as fact. You are doing fine. You made the right choice. Being an independent single parent is what is best for you and your family. Aunt Evie agrees.

You fold her blessing onto itself and turn the key over in your hand. It's an ordinary key. But she didn't say it was to her flat?

Taking the second page into focus your smile bursts into happy tears. On a bright pink Post-It is scribbled "I bought it!" and once you've removed her declaration from the page you see a copy of the deed, in her name, and yours, to a little cabin on The Magdelan Islands back home.

* * *

When your flight lands, you immediately text Évelyne to let her know that you're safely on the ground. The tiny planes that fly onto the islands are mildly horrifying, but quick nonetheless. As you gather the litany of things required to travel with a ten and seven year old in tow, your phone buzzes in your hip pocket. "Bisous Bisous Bisous" she replied. You immediately blush.

It's not that your children haven't met before. Of course they have. They've been a part of each other's lives like cousins. But never have your sons traveled to the cabin, nor have the kids ever had cause to see you together in such a domestic context. Seeing each other outside of a holiday, or a TV or Film event, might just seem strange. But then again, it might not.

Your oldest runs off the plane and into the sun, squinting his eyes and near launching himself off of the exit stairs. The little one hangs close to your leg, holding your fingers tightly. Certainly not his first flight, but the tiny planes that bounce are definitely not his favorite.

As you roll your own bag, and theirs, in one awkwardly unstable stack behind you, the path to the small airport from the tarmac feels indefinite. You spot a tall blondish silhouette standing behind a tiny six year old pipsqueak with crazy locks of toe-headed curls waiting for you at the gate. As soon the little one sees your wave, she jumps up and down and climbs her maman to get a better view. As you approach the exit, she releases herself from Évelyne's embrace and jumps right over the bar and into your chest, clamoring kisses all over your face. "Autie T! Auntie T! I love you, I love you! I love you!" tiny Sarah says with reckless glee. You chuckle thinking, hummm, wonder where she gets it. "Well I love you too! My petit chiot!" you reply. You're so thankful that your French has improved.

Your little one, Scottie, scurries past the gate and magnetizes himself to Évelyne's legs, as if claiming her, while Finn, the eldest, takes the bags like a gentleman. "I got it ma, go ahead" he says, nodding.

You embrace Évelyne over the vice gripping arms of her beautiful daughter and surprisingly she kisses you hello, square on the mouth, right behind her little blond head.

"Bienvenue accueil mon amour" she whispers in your ear. As Sarah climbs back into Évelyne's arms, Scottie grabs your fallen fingers and Finn pops in between you. "Hi" he says, Cheshire cat toothy smile looking ridiculously like the one you often see in the mirror. "Can we go swimming?" he says bouncing on his feet wrapping his little muscular arms around both your and Évelyne's waists with urgency.

You pull the whole pile of hugs and kisses into an open corner and put down all of the bags, all of the babies and let out an enormous post-travel, need-of-some-coffee sigh. Évelyne just gazes at you over the heads of your giggling children. Your heart swells. You're both blushing, just standing there, staring. Scottie is trying to show Sarah a trick but she's distracted by Finn's new phone. Finn is looking up the water temperature, arming himself with essential data so he can try to convince you that March in Canada is not that different from March in California. You palm their heads and pull them close, Sarah runs to the middle - she not so secretly loves being the middle – and Évelyne completes the loop. "Shall we get out of here then?" she says, tipping her crown of curls to the exit, cuing the duck line to follow.

You pile into her car (She keeps a car on the island, now?) to head back to the cabin and within ten minutes of departure, all three little heads in the back seat are fast asleep. Sarah's car seat is directly behind you, so when you turn your head back you can see Finn's face pressed to the glass of the opposite door, and Scott fallen to his brother's arm with Sarah's little fingers held tight in his other hand.

"Évelyne look," you whisper to the driver, who glances back quickly while stopped at an intersection.

"Oh mon Dieu" she says, "this might not be that weird, after all."

You wrap your fingers around her hand on the stick shift (why is she seriously, the sexiest person alive?) and squeeze. Your cheeks are red; you can feel it. Your heart is pounding as hard in your chest as it did almost twenty years ago when you first met. Near fifteen years ago, the first time you came to this island. Close to ten years ago when you got pregnant and announced that, whatever was going on between you, had to stop. Just about five years ago when you were presenting Sarah to the church, as her godmother. Or just last year, when Évelyne told you that she'd rather be alone, than with someone that was convenient, but was not you. Or exactly four months ago, when you opened her letter in your kitchen.

"You okay?" she says from be hind the wheel. "What are you puzzling, over there Tat? I can hear your mind whirring."

"Oh you know, just feeling very Brady Bunchy and not quite knowing how this is all going to play out." You're starting to recognize landmarks and know that you're close. You turn to wake the kids, but she stops you, a firm hand pressed to your thigh.

"Life has no script, mon amour," she says softly. The car rolls to a stop and for a moment your foreheads touch between the front two seats of the car. "This is true," you reply, leaning up to kiss the fine line of baby hair at the top of her beautiful face.

"Mom?" Finn's voice breaks the moment gently. "How long are we staying?"

"As long as you'd like" Évelyne replies, putting the car into park, right next to the cabin.

"Cool," exclaims Finn, rousing his little brother in excitement.

* * *

When you re-enter the cabin, Évelyne takes your hand and pulls you into the bedroom. "Finn? Honey?" she asks popping her head out the door, "Can you make sure both Scottie and Sarah use the loo before we head back out? And maybe do a quick check of the fridge and cupboards and let me know if there's anything we should stop for at the market before we come back?"

"Sure, Auntie E. I gotchu," he replies easily. Always the dutiful oldest child. Your hand presses to your heart with how much you adore him.

"Isn't he a dream?" you say to Évelyne, your arms instinctively wrapping up around the back of her neck.

"You're the dream," she says, finally fully embracing you in her arms. Kissing you deeply. Your whole body is alarmed and near painfully alive.

A little knock is quickly followed by Finn's mop of chestnut curls popping into the door, which sadly has no lock.

"Auntie Évelyne, everybody peed." You take a step back and start to unpack your own bag, as if for a second Finn believes that's what you were doing. His green brown eyes glisten as he catches yours and he smiles widely while he continues, "our stuff is up in the loft, Sarah's stuff is with the cot AND you even remembered my favorite Pop Tarts. So can we go out and play now, or do we really have to go to the market and stuff first?"

"Do you think it's okay if they just go for a wonder?" you ask Évelyne, not knowing who the most recent neighbors are, or if much has changed.

"I think they can," she says. "Sarah actually knows her way around pretty well for a little one. She'll show you were we wonder and point towards the dock, the neighborhood park and stuff. It is all pretty contained. Just please don't take her down by the water. She doesn't have a life jacket on." Evelyne's eyes widen and she looks at you in a bit of a panic. "Can Scott swim?"

"Like a fish" both you and Finn reply, in unison. California boys. They swim every day.

"Oh of course," Évelyne says, "There's a park about five minutes walk towards town from here. There's a dog run and jungle gym, swings and stuff." Finn's eyes light up like he's ready to bolt out the door. "You sure you can manage them on your own?" Évelyne asks, nervous. Your hand propels itself to her back, as if to tell her it's okay. You trust Finn, she should trust him too.

"Really, I can. Scott's my little brother. Sarah might as well be my little sister. I got this." Finn takes a step into the room and kisses your cheek. "Bye Mom, see you in a bit." He gets up on his tippiest of toes and kisses Évelyne's cheek too. "Bye Aunt E, I promise, I'll take care of Sarah. See you guys in an hour or something. Unpack. Take a nap, whatever. I have my phone if you need me." And with that he was gone. Both of you stand gap-jawed while you hear him rally the little ones on the other side of the wall.

"You ready, guys? It's adventure time!"

The porch door clamors closed and neither of you can seem to move. You can hear Évelyne's heart beat from three feet away and your pretty sure the pressure in your lower body multiplied ten fold as soon as Finn left. Évelyne quickly crosses to the window and peers through the blinds, "They're gone" she says, tightening the shade to make looking in from outside impossible. The she lifts the small chair that was sitting in the corner and gently wedges it under the handle of the door. "That's not opening without a fight" she says, playfully. "Tomorrow, we'll get a lock. I promise."

"Get over here" you say climbing over the bed as the path to her body is now blocked by the damn chair, but she meets you half way, taking your face in her hands, pressing her lips to yours, both laughing and kissing as you fall to the pillows below.

You wish that you could savor the lingering touches and romantic removal of clothing, that you could slowly reacquaint your fingertips and tongue with the skin you know so well, but have to relearn every time. You wish you could asses where things have adjusted through seasons of heartbreaks, set backs and even many cases of monumental joy. You want to know where new lines cross smooth planes, where new curves fill out once angular shapes. How this magical body before you, bore a child, raised her, loved her, and still managed to maintain the proportions of a painting. Breathtaking, still.

But minutes pass quickly and without much fanfare you undress yourselves so damn fast that it becomes a race to see who can get naked first. You win. But only because you're you and travel clothes still mean yoga pants and a T-Shirt and she's still Évelyne, meaning six layers of fashion must be undone before you can get to the center of the Tootsie Roll Pop.

She knows she's lagging so she turns it into a tease, but she does leave a few things for you to tend to, which you do willingly, of course, using only tongue and teeth.

"How are you still just so utterly perfect?" you say cradling her tiny belly in your palms from below.

"I'm perfectly, perfect, for you," she says gazing down at your shaking head. Never one to take a compliment this one. You choose to answer with your tongue pressed to her sex, your nose, chin and cheeks relishing the smooth, warm, undulation of her hips' response. The whimpers and cries of your name are as familiar as they are foreign, as inspiring as they are anchoring. Loving her so freely is both liberating and exciting. As her torso quivers and quakes in your arms you catch her eyes, dewy and soft. She rakes her nails up through the back of your hair, pulling you up to her open mouth, where she kisses you like she's claiming you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders tightly, her legs around your hips. "Don't ever, leave me again" she says, earnestly.

"I wasn't planning on it" you reply to her fearful gaze. "You know, I think this might be the first time, that we, um, that we don't..."

"Have someone else waiting for one of us, elsewhere?" she finishes.

"Yes. So I was thinking, that um. Maybe we could, you know, try living in two cities, instead of only existing in this little town? I mean, um, maybe give this a go, like for real? I mean I wanted to talk to you about it later. With the kids at dinner, but I'm too excited to wait."

"Wait what?" Évelyne sits up in bed and stares at you, incredulous when she says, "Make what official, like tell the kids?"

"I may have already told them" you confess, biting your lip in apology. "Well at least mine."

"Wait, you what?" It's like you're suddenly speaking another language, and not French, or German, or Spanish, which between the two of you, could be understandable.

"Well actually, I didn't tell them. They asked me."

"WHAT?" The color is actually draining from her face, like she's been punched.

"Well, Finn did," you say, as soothingly as possible, holding her knee with your open palm. "When I told him that you invited the boys to come with me to the cabin, he asked me if I loved you. And I said yes, and he asked if I loved you the way that I used to love his father. And when I didn't answer right away, he said, 'that's what I thought' and I still couldn't say anything, so he put his little Finn head on my shoulder and he said 'I love her too, mom. And Scottie loves her, and hey, even Dad loves her in his way. Maybe you should just let yourself love her too.'"

Évelyne's jaw hangs slack. Her eyes immediately start to spill over. Tears raining over her smile.

"He's amazing. That boy. He's absolutely amazing," she says.

"Yes, he absolutely is. Smart as fuck, playful and goofy like me and unbelievably generous and compassionate like his father. So here we are," you say, wiping her cheeks with your thumbs, kissing the tears from her eyes.

"I don't know what to say" Évelyne babbles into your kisses.

"Say, yes?! Say that you want to be part of our family? Say that Sarah will want to be part of our family too? Say that we're finally old enough and established enough that no one will actually give a crap!?"

"Oh my god, yes. Of course. Yes. Yes. Yes! Sarah's been begging me for a brother and you just showed up with two!"

"Yes, I guess I did."

You fall into a teary, sloppy, precious kiss, then lie back onto the pillow with your hands behind your head and smile up at the beautiful creature before you. That went so much better than you expected.

The sentimental softness in Évelyne's eyes quickly dissolves to something predatory as she pounces from the other side of the bed and makes light work untying your knots. Her fingers are skilled and delicate, purposeful and generous. Her gratitude and joy pushes you both to long awaited simultaneous release. Only with her. Ever. Your mind swims, your heart races, yet you're so unbelievably calm. When the breathing subsides and a soft caress wipes the moisture from your brow, the subtle rattle of the porch door closing perks you both to attention from your horizontal cocoon.

"Moms!" Finn shouts from the living room, "We're back! And we're eating all the Pop Tarts, so you better get out here!"

"Did he just say 'Moms'"? you say to Évelyne, who's rubbing her brow, and giggling.

"Yea, he did. He sure did."

"I'm gonna kill him," you say, pulling yourself from Évelyne's arms, yanking on your pants and shirt, quickly pulling back your hair and wiping your mouth and face, as much as you can at least, on a the sheet.

"Please don't kill him," Évelyne says, showing little interest in getting up or redressing. "I love him to pieces. He's like my little you."

"You have no idea," you say slowly moving the chair from the door and slinking your way to the other side.

"Hey guys," you say, smiling bigger and more truthfully than you have in years, "you better have saved mommy a Pop Tart. Mamon can have a saltine later," you playfully throw back to the bedroom behind you. "She's being a lame-o and taking a nap."

Finn's eyes meet yours, asking silently if the plan worked. When you tousle his hair and snap a bite out of the s'mores delicacy in his hands, he knows that it did. He grabs his brother in his arms and spins him around "We did it! We did it! We did it!"

"Did what?" says Sarah, pulling on your shirt.

"Oh, that's just Finn's way of saying he's really really happy that we're all here together", you say scooping the baby with your baby's eyes into your arms, "and that we're probably going to be seeing a lot more of each other."

"Yay!" Sarah shouts to the air, "We did it! We did it! We did it!"

From the corner of your eye you can see Scottie tip toe to the bedroom door with a Pop Tart hanging out of his mouth. He peeks into the room and you too can see that Évelyne is dressing. Moments later she pops into the door frame and scoops Scottie on to her hip. You're a bit too petite to carry him like that. It makes you giddy that she's not.

"What's all this fussing about mes petits anges?" she says.

"What peteet ags? Huh?" Scottie asks, offering her a bite of his Pop Tart.

"She said, my little darlings, Scottie" you answer from across the room, seeing Évelyne take a bite and knowing she'd never translate with her mouthful.

"Someone's been practicing their French," says Finn pointing to his mother- rudely.

"Way to give me up Buddy. Thanks," you say comically, pulling him to your side. "But really. Thank you Finn." He can see your eyes start to well and smiles. The clones were nothing. Sometimes looking at Finn, really is like looking into a mirror.

"You're my greatest gift. All of you," you say, trying desperately not to cry the happy tears that are about to leap out of your eyes.

"We're the luckiest," says Scottie wrapping his arms around Évelyne's neck like a clamp. "We get mom and a dad and Aunt Evie and Sarah and... can we have a wedding? Please, please, please pretty please!?"

"Shhhh baby," Évelyne says to his excited brows "let's not get in over our heads just yet. But you know what we should do?" she says, gently putting his feet back on the floor.

"What?" everyone asks at the top of their lungs.

"We should dance!"

As if on cue, Finn presses play on a great track on his phone and turns the volume up. He places it speaker side up on the table and scoops Sarah up into his arms.

He dances with her and spins her around. Scottie jumps up and down waving in the air.

Évelyne grasps your hands over their bouncing heads and everyone boogies down and around and back again until your lips finally meet and you both feel six little arms hugging all around.


End file.
